


Patience of the memory

by skriftlig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skriftlig/pseuds/skriftlig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco Malfoy is admitted to St. Mungo's screaming in his sleep, Harry is determined to help him recover, even if it means breaking the rules on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry finished work at six o'clock in the morning.

Most trainee Healers hated the late shift, but Harry had always been different and he enjoyed the night work. He got hassled less for autographs and photographs at 6am than he would have at 6pm, when it wasn't uncommon for crowds to form in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Of course that meant the Muggles who lived nearby complained about squatters in the run-down department store for one week every few months and the Metropolitan Police escorted polite, if strangely-dressed, people away from the area.

It had been a quiet night. Only a slow trickle of patients had come into the Albus Dumbledore ward—especially set up after the war for the Treatment of Dark Magic related injuries—and most of them had required nothing that kept them in longer than a few hours. Harry crossed to the Healer changing rooms and threw his stuff in his locker before casting a quick locking charm.

He was headed for the Floo points in the lobby when he heard it – a piercing scream that ripped through the early morning air, unwavering and unending. Harry froze; the blood seemed to pause in his veins and his whole body stiffened. His first irrational thought was the Voldemort was back and torturing people in the hospital.

And then, suddenly, the scream was gone.

Blood surged through his body again, strong and hot, as instinct kicked in and he ran towards the sound. He sprinted out of the lobby, past the Dumbledore ward reception area and into one of the disused corridors at the back of the hospital.

Healer Jones, head of the Albus Dumbledore ward, and a burly man Harry didn't recognise were at the other end. Their raised voices stopped abruptly as he came toward them and the man gave Healer Jones a curt nod and strode away.

“Healer Potter,” she smiled at him as he approached.

She ran a hand through her cropped hair and adjusted the badge on her light mauve robes. Amethyst Jones was respected by the other healers in the hospital, having spent 15 years as a Healer before taking on her current administrative role. Harry liked her a great deal; she was kind but fair, and when Harry had applied to do his training in her ward, she'd put him through the same tough interview as everybody else.

He stopped next to her, outside the door. A slight tingling rippled up his arm and he realised why the screams had stopped.

“There's an Imperturbable Charm around the room?”

She didn't ask how he knew, just nodded. Harry had developed a sense for recognising magic – it made him an asset on the Dumbledore ward.

“You mean the patient is still screaming in there?” he frowned.

“Probably, yes.”

“What? Aren't you doing anything to help?”

“There's nothing more we can do right now.”

Harry gaped at her. Healer Jones looked at the door behind him sadly.

“Whatever pain the patient is feeling is not real. It's a nightmare, and a strong one at that. We've tried Pain-Release Potions, Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep but nothing is working and we can't try anything else now.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, immediately thinking of a few spells to check for mind control or memory modification.

“We've put up magic-blocking wards. The patient's magic is out of control during the nightmares and we think it's safest if no magic is performed inside.”

Harry just stared at her. How were they supposed to treat a patient without magic?

“Can I go in?”

Healer Jones looked hard at him and was quiet for such a long time that Harry began to get nervous. He was good at his job and he'd never been too shocked or too traumatised to tend to a patient before, unlike some of the other trainees. But if Healer Jones was hesitating about letting him see this patient, well, the patient must be in a really bad state.

She opened her mouth, but shut it again without saying anything. Eventually, she nodded.

“Harry. Please keep what you see in there private.”

Harry frowned again; he really didn't need to be reminded of Healer-patient confidentiality, but he agreed anyway. He pushed open the door and felt the light sting of the wards as he walked inside.

The screams hit him instantly. They were louder than before and Harry's head protested violently. He resisted casting a silencing spell, instead he withdrew earplugs from his pocket and pushed them into his ears. With the sound dampened, he could take in everything around him.

There wasn't much: a bed with a little table next to it. Harry didn't notice anything more, his attention was drawn to the patient in the bed. The bed covers were twisted tightly around his chest and legs as his thin body jerked and bent like someone under the Cruciatus Curse.

The man had his back to Harry, his head bent. His vertebrae stuck out in a line of bumps, stretching from the covers to his light hair. Harry was convinced a particularly violent twist would push them through his skin.

The man's head flipped to face him and Harry looked into the wild, grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, Malfoy stilled and the screams stopped. Harry's heart thumped against his ribs. Then Malfoy opened his mouth and lurched forward, retching onto the edge of the bed. Red streaks stood out against the dark liquid as it dripped onto the floor. Harry took a deep breath, trying to ignore the stench and the bile rising in his own stomach, and told himself to calm down. Malfoy didn't recognise him; he didn't even recognise that he'd just thrown up in his own bed. Harry couldn't bring himself to clean up the small pool of sick below the bed.

He meant to leave. His shift was already over and this wasn't his patient, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

The papers had been full of the Death Eater trials after the war. Most had ended up in Azkaban, where they'd died shortly after, but Draco Malfoy and his parents had been cleared. Not that it had done them much good – Lucius and Narcissa had died within the year. Harry had heard nothing of Draco in the four years since; he was careful to avoid attention.

It wasn't until Healer Jones gently placed a hand on his sleeve that Harry looked away from the bed. She looked sadly at Malfoy, who had resumed screaming and straining under the bed clothes, and held the door open for Harry. When they were outside, Harry leaned against the wall and pulled out the ear-plugs, letting the silence wash over him.

“What's wrong with him?” he asked. His voice sounded shaky to his own ears.

“We don't know. He came in yesterday and we weren’t able to make a diagnosis before we had to stop all magic.”

Harry nodded. He knew the preliminary diagnostic tests and if Malfoy had passed them, his condition wasn't life-threatening, at least.

“Who has his case?”

Healer Jones was silent and Harry looked into her tired face. Small lines were etched into her dark skin and her normally bright eyes were shadowed with dark circles.

“For now, no-one.” She took a deep breath. “The Ministry wants him transferred to St. Dickenson's.”

Harry made a surprised noise in his throat. It wasn't that uncommon for the Ministry to get involved with patients, especially if they'd played a role in the war. It came under the guise of _protecting our citizens_ that the Minister had started in an attempt to make people forget how useless the government had been at protecting people when they really needed it. However, it was more surprising that they wanted to send Malfoy to St. Dickenson's. It was an institute of theoretical healing-- usually, only research and trials went on there. Healer Jones answered the unasked question.

“They want to remove his magic completely.”

Harry balked.

“What? Why? Can they even do that?”

“The Ministry believes it has developed a potion capable of it, yes, and the Wizengamot has given permission for its use in extreme cases.”

“And this is an extreme case?” he asked disbelievingly.

Healer Jones looked at him levelly.

“Draco was brought in because he demolished his bedroom wall whilst he slept. We managed to heal his lung and leg, but the nightmares... I don't know. Next time he might not be so lucky.”

“So we're just going to let them take him away and turn him into a squib?” Harry fumed.

He wasn't sure why he was getting so angry about this. He supposed he felt protective over the magical world and Malfoy was part of that-- he was the first wizard Harry could remember meeting after all.

“They have confiscated his wand, but they can only take Draco away once he has been discharged from my ward,” Jones said firmly.

“But you said no-one had his case.”

“So far no-one has been... enthusiastic about treating him. But I haven't spoken to all the Healers yet.”

Harry opened his mouth to complain and then shut it again. He could understand the sentiment. St. Mungo's had dealt with so many injuries caused by Death Eaters that even now there was a huge resentment amongst the Healers towards them. And Malfoy _had_ been a Death Eater, whether he'd been sixteen and terrified when he joined or not.

“I'll do it. I'll take him.”

Healer Jones sighed.

“I thought you might say that,” she said ruefully. “Of course the only person who would consider this case would be the one who I think should avoid it.”

Harry bristled. He'd last seen Malfoy five years ago and he could put aside the past. Healer Jones must have noticed because she held her hands up to placate him.

“It's late, Harry. Or early. Think it over okay? Don't make any rushed decisions. In the meantime I will see if any senior Healer is willing to take this case.”

Harry promised he would think about it and bade her good bye. He had turned to leave when she spoke again.

“We teach you all patients are equal in this place, that no one life is valued more than another, but I'm afraid it doesn't always work like that.”

\+ + +

Harry Floo'ed home. He still felt exhausted when he woke up in the afternoon and for the first time in three years, he considered skipping Wednesday dinner (or lunch for him, when he was on nights). In the end he dragged on a change of clothes and stepped into the fire, calling out the address of Ron and Hermione's flat.

He barely took two steps on to the carpet when Hermione pulled him into a hug, followed by Ron.

They'd ordered Muggle takeaway. It always made Harry smile when he thought about it. Hermione because she refused any wizarding food service on the grounds they almost certainly employed House Elves and Ron because he secretly enjoyed using the telephone Hermione had insisted they install.

Harry spooned a second helping of curry on to his plate. The food had cheered him up immensely and he chided himself for even thinking about missing this.

“I saw a new patient today,” he told them.

“Yeah, what's wrong with him?” Ron asked.

“Don't know.”

In was true: all Harry knew was that Malfoy's magic was out of control. He didn't think it was the right time to add 'he has nightmares that make him scream and throw up in his bed'. Ron looked at him like he'd cracked.

“Then why're we talking about--”

“It's Draco Malfoy.”

He didn't know what he expected, but the silence that followed made him uneasy. Both Ron and Hermione were staring at him. Ron had a forgotten piece of naan bread half-way to his mouth.

“No-one will take him as a patient. So I was thinking--”

“No. No way, mate,” Ron interjected. “We've saved his life already, remember? He doesn't deserve any more of our help.”

He looked to his girlfriend for help.

“Hermione, back me up here. Surely you don't think Harry should take Malfoy, of all people, as a patient.”

Ron's eyes were wide, but Hermione just turned thoughtful eyes on Harry.

“I think it's no use trying to change Harry's mind, Ron.”

“What?” Ron sounded scandalised as he turned back to Harry. “You've already taken him on?”

“No,” Harry reassured him. “I asked Jones about it and she said to think it over first.” He shrugged, wishing he'd never brought it up; now he was even more confused than before. “I don't know what to do.”

There was another uncomfortable silence. He felt Ron's eyes on him.

“Anyway, what's happening at the Ministry?” he asked Hermione. “Any news on Abbey?”

Abbey Gardiner had been a patient in the Dai Llewellyn ward at St. Mungo's a few months ago. She was only eight years old and a werewolf, so her case had been of particular interest to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hermione had shot up the career ladder—to nobody's surprise—and now headed the Protection of Part-Creatures division within the department.

“They refuse to release her! It will be nearly four whole weeks until her next transformation, but Cole wants to keep her locked up.”

Harry hadn't seen Abbey when she was at the hospital, but he had seen her name on the front page of _The Prophet_ when she'd attacked and killed her neighbour's pet owl after her release. Henry Cole, head of the Magical Creatures department, had used the story to promote the capture and imprisonment of werewolves.

“Instead of actually helping her to come to terms with her condition, they are punishing her for something she can't do anything about,” Hermione continued. “It's completely unfair and unethical.”

Ron heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Why does it always get depressing when you two talk about your jobs?”

“Go on then,” Harry grinned, “tell us what brilliant things you've been doing, Auror Weasley?”

Ron chuckled.

“Well, as it happens, you are looking at one half of the best trainee Auror team this month.”

Hermione let out a shriek and threw her arms around Ron. Harry could make out her muffled exclamations of _so proud_ and _deserving._ He grinned at Ron over her hair, who looked embarrassed but pleased.

“Well done, mate.” Harry said.

He meant it. There'd been a time, immediately after the war, when Harry had wanted to go into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement too. Ultimately, he'd decided against it, opting for a place he could make a difference with a little less media coverage.

“Thanks, though to be fair, it was mostly Neville's work on that Doxy Eggs suspect,” Ron admitted. He tore off another chunk of naan bread before continuing. “Honestly, if you'd told me in first year that Neville would be the best trainee Auror in the department, I would've told you to get your head checked out.”

Harry reached for his beer and raised it in the air.

“To Ron. One half of the best junior Auror team in the country!”

They clinked bottles and laughed, and for the rest of the evening Draco Malfoy and Abbey Gardiner were replaced by happier thoughts.

\+ + +

The first part of his shift went by quickly and by midnight Harry found himself walking down corridor B3. Healer Jones hadn't found anyone willing to take Malfoy's case and she'd eventually agreed to let Harry treat him. Harry hoped Malfoy wasn't yet asleep; he planned to talk to him, see if he could get any information on the nightmares.

A light flickered in the corridor and Harry made a mental note that he'd have to ask someone to fix it. He took a few calming breaths then pushed the door open.

Malfoy was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and knees drawn to his chest. The bed clothes covered him from the waist down and he was wearing a hospital-issued white t-shirt with long sleeves. He was staring straight ahead and he didn't look up when Harry walked in. It gave Harry a chance to look around the room.

The room was just as bare as before, though there was a door to a bathroom that he'd not noticed yesterday. The walls were painted in the usual plain white, but in here it seemed to emphasise the emptiness of the room. A plastic chair sat at the far side of the room in front of a large window that looked over a meadow. Purple heather was just visible under the bright starlight. Harry cringed at how obviously fake the view was and nearly raised his wand to change it before he remembered the no-magic rule.

Harry looked back to Malfoy and winced. He had been right about Malfoy being underweight. His hands were clasped around his knees, his knuckles bulging out from slender fingers, and his high cheekbones were hollow. Malfoy's skin was as pale as ever, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Blond hair fell limply from his head in dull, knotted clumps, and worst of all, his eyes were blank and unseeing.

Harry took another deep breath.

“Hello, Draco. My name is Harry Potter.”

Malfoy's face snapped round then, life springing back into his silvery eyes. Harry tried not to take too much satisfaction in that. Instead, he walked around Malfoy's bed and pulled up the chair.

“Get out!” Malfoy snarled. His voice sounded scratchy, as if Bowtruckles had been clawing at his throat.

Harry didn't move.

“I'm your Healer on this ward and-”

“I don't want a Healer.”

“Draco,” Harry said as calmly as he could, “you need a Healer. That's why you're here.”

“Don't call me Draco,” Malfoy said, his voice rising. “And I don't need a Healer, certainly not one with an ugly scar on his face, so you can let me out of here.”

The rational part of Harry's brain was screaming at him to leave. First rule for dealing with aggressive patients: walk away. Do not bait them. Unfortunately, Harry's training didn't seem to apply to Draco Malfoy.

“So you would have been just fine bleeding to death under a pile of bricks then?”

“I'd rather bleed to death than be stuck in here with you for a Healer!”

“Well tough, because no other Healer wants to treat a Death Eater.”

There was a stunned silence. When Malfoy recovered, his voice held no anger, just cold hatred.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Harry turned on his heel and stormed out. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against the corridor wall. His breathing was heavy and there was sweat trickling down from his armpits under his robes. He swore loudly, and then hoped Malfoy hadn't heard him.

He had always considered himself one of the more professional trainees but his performance in there would result in disciplinary action if Malfoy reported him.

He waited half an hour to calm down before checking on his next patient.

\+ + +

Healer Jones gestured to the chair in front of her desk and Harry sat down, conscious of her eyes on him. She waited and Harry suddenly found himself at a loss for what to say. He looked at her collection of framed certificates and awards on the wall.

“Why do I get the feeling this is about a particular patient?”

She didn't sound annoyed, which was a relief. Harry noticed she'd won _Healer of the Year_ in 1999.

“I visited Mal- Draco today.”

They were always supposed to call patients by their first name-- a difficult task for those who had gone to Hogwarts. Healer Jones stayed silent.

“He said he wanted to leave.” Harry snapped his eyes to hers. “Can he?”

“Usually, when we judge the patient a danger to themselves or to others, we have the power to keep them here if no alternatives are immediately available. Unfortunately, in this case I think there are alternatives all too readily available.”

“But he doesn't have to be transferred to St. Dickenson's,” Harry said quickly. “The Janus Thickey ward--”

“-requires permission from the Board, Harry. And they will not overrule the Ministry's decision.”

“What if I-”

She just shook her head. “Even you can't change the Board's mind on this one. I have already spoken to them and they are determined.”

Harry's gaze fell to the floor. So Malfoy would be stripped of his magic if he didn't get better. Harry felt torn; Malfoy might be a bastard but surely even he didn't deserve that. Did he? _We've saved his life already, remember? He doesn't deserve any more of our help._

“I understand if you want to drop this case, Harry. It was a brave thing to do to try to take it on in the first place and it is not your fault that you couldn't help. Some patients we cannot save.”

Suddenly the indecision vanished. Harry didn't even spare a second thought.

“No.”

Healer Jones smiled tightly at him.

“Then perhaps I can be of practical use. Have you seen Draco yet?”

“Yes. It, erm, didn't go very well.”

“I have heard about your relationship at school, Harry. It would be easier for me to give a professional opinion if you didn't sugar-coat the truth.”

Harry took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn't get fired.

“I yelled at him and told him no other Healer would take his case.”

Healer Jones was quiet for a while and Harry looked at the floor again. Saying it aloud made him feel like an even bigger failure.

“I don't think the nightmares are linked to any physical injuries, but mental ones,” she said finally. “It might help to know what exactly his nightmares are about.”

“Couldn't we find out what he's thinking using Legilimency?” Harry asked, relived she'd not shouted at him about the Malfoy incident.

Healer Jones smiled ruefully at him.

“Indeed we tried, but it appears Draco is a skilled Occlumens even when asleep. No, I think the best course of action would be to get him to willingly open up about his nightmares.”

Harry seriously began to doubt he would be able to help at all. Get Malfoy to open up to Harry about his nightmares? There was more chance of Hagrid becoming Minister for Magic. He stood up.

“Thank you. I'll check in on him again tomorrow.”

“Good. And Healer Potter? If your next visit should prove to be a repeat of your first, then I expect you to inform me and you will be taken off Draco's case. I know you are trying to help, but he is still a patient here and I will not tolerate my Healers verbally abusing patients.”

Harry nodded once and left.

\+ + +

The door was slightly ajar. Harry's heart thudded and he raced toward it. All patients' rooms on the Albus Dumbledore ward had containment charms on them so that the patients couldn't leave their rooms – had Malfoy found a way to get out of his?

He had run a few paces into Malfoy's room when he came to an abrupt halt. A woman in light blue Carer robes was standing next to Malfoy's bed. He recognised her as Chloe, one of the younger Carers on the ward. There was a large stain on her sleeve and a furious expression on her face. Harry wasn't surprised to see it directed at Malfoy, who was sitting against the headboard of the bed. A plastic cup rolled on the floor.

Harry didn't need to ask what had happened. Malfoy turned to look at him.

“Get the fuck out of my room, Potter. And take this pathetic excuse for a House Elf with you.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest but Harry held a hand to silence her. She huffed and stormed out. Harry waited until her footsteps had died away before he spoke.

“I'm your Healer, Draco and I won't go away just because you shout at me.”

Malfoy seemed to sag a little. Harry praised himself for his cool logic before he realised that, judging by the circles under his eyes, Malfoy was probably just too tired to argue.

Harry bent to pick up the discarded tea cup and had a flash of inspiration.

“It's not poisoned, you know. Next time, I'll drink it first it you like.”

Malfoy looked at him as though he'd spoken Mermish.

“I know it's not poisoned, Potter. It's just shit.”

“Oh. Right.”

Malfoy raised his eyes to the ceiling, but Harry thought his shoulders relaxed a bit. Harry took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any.

“Draco.”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at him and his nostrils flared, but Harry pressed on.

“The Ministry want you out of St. Mungo's.”

“Good.”

“They want to take you to St. Dickenson's to remove your magic.”

The little colour in Malfoy's face vanished. He watched Malfoy's Adam's apple dip as he swallowed and Harry felt his own throat drying up. For a moment Malfoy looked lost and Harry had a flash-back to a scared young boy in a bathroom.

“I don't want that to happen,” he carried on softly. “But you can only stay here if you let me help you.”

Malfoy just stared at him, then looked away out of the window.

Over the weekend, Harry consoled himself with the fact that Malfoy had not refused outright.


	2. Chapter 2

He was back on day shifts, much to the pleasure of some of Harry's hardcore fans and the bafflement of the Muggle police.

It was always tricky to adjust to the first morning back and his lunch break came as a relief. He sat opposite Hermione in the staff canteen as she simultaneously filled him in on the finer points of the latest piece of creature legislation she was drafting and stole his food. Harry was only half-listening when a sudden change in her tone caught his attention.

“And we have a departmental meeting at work next week.”

She didn't need to say about what. Hermione had been battling Cole over the Ministry's position on werewolves for nearly a year. Despite the general distrust of werewolves, no official guidelines existed on what to do about them when they had been found. As only three had been discovered in the past five years, and all had been killed during capture attempts, it hadn't been a priority. Abbey Gardiner changed that, of course.

Hermione held a sheet of parchment over his tray of chips and pumpkin juice. It was titled _Agenda for meeting on dealing with werewolves, Tuesday 27th._ There were points such as: were werewolves allowed in public places? Were they allowed wands? Could they have regular jobs and attend Hogwarts? Near the bottom of the list was Abbey's name. She was being used as an example and Harry realised her case would set a precedent for werewolves up and down the country.

Harry put his hand on Hermione's arm.

“It'll be fine. Dumbledore let Remus into Hogwarts and that was okay.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. He waved the chip that was halfway to his mouth at her.

“Okay, bad example. But people know about Remus – how he was part of the Order and how he fought against Voldemort.”

Harry tried not to think what would happen to Teddy. He couldn't bear Remus's son growing up surrounded by the same prejudices his father faced. Sometimes he wondered if he'd go into hiding with Teddy if it ever came to that. Hermione's sigh brought him back to the present.

“Anyway, tell me how it's going with Malfoy.”

Harry jabbed a chip into the BBQ sauce rather forcefully.

“He's being a stubborn git, basically.”

“Oh, Harry! What did you expect? Put yourself in his shoes. When _you_ were having nightmares, did you-”

“I wasn't having nightmares,” he interrupted hotly. People sitting at the nearest tables turned to look at him. He waited until they'd returned to their own conversations. “I was having visions of Voldemort,” he hissed at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“This is exactly my point. You had nightmares after the war, Harry. I know about them – Ginny told me. She was worried,” Hermione added hurriedly seeing the look on Harry's face. “It's nothing to be ashamed about: we all had them. I did. And Ron. But the fact is you couldn't even tell us about them. Imagine how you would have felt being forced to tell Draco Malfoy.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry pushed his tray away. “I know I'm not his favourite person to talk to, but I'm trying to help. No-one else will even take his case. I don't know how to get him to trust me.”

“You have to make yourself as open and vulnerable as he is.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Hermione shrugged as she took his last chip.

“I have no idea.”

\+ + +

Harry was glad for Hermione's support with the Malfoy case; the rest of the Albus Dumbledore ward didn't hide their dislike of him and the Carers openly argued about who had to clean his room and bring him meals. The two times Harry had written Malfoy's name on the patient board, it had been rubbed out within an hour.

Of course, Hermione's support came in book form later than evening when her owl tapped on the window during Harry's dinner.

He rose from the sofa to take the parchment and small bag tied to its leg.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Here are some books I had at home on dealing with nightmares. I thought they might be helpful for your patient. If you want more, just let me know._

 _Love,  
Hermione xxx_

He tipped the little bag upside down and 4 miniature books fell out. Grinning to himself, he enlarged them to their normal size.

He opened the first book, called _Living with Nightmares,_ and searched the contents until he found a section titled _How to Stop Your Nightmares._

 _Often nightmares can be prevented by reducing stress and anxiety before sleep. There are several options available for immediate relaxation before you go to bed:_

 _1\. Medical treatments, such as Calming Draughts or Dreamless Sleep Potions.  
2\. Breathing and stretching exercises.  
3\. Eating the correct foods, i.e. avoiding foods that are high in fat.  
4\. Sexual intercourse._

Harry slammed the book shut.

\+ + +

Harry spent the next day at work trying to come up with ways to make himself vulnerable. Sometime between counter-acting the effects of a mild dose of the Drink of Despair and healing victims of a tie cursed to strangle the wearer, he had a brainwave.

After his shift, he grabbed a few things from the hospital supply rooms and Floo'ed home. He spent an hour on the spell, and, after testing it a few times on himself, went to bed satisfied it would work, even under a magic-cancelling ward.

Harry was too pleased to let the still-broken lighting get him down as he walked down corridor B3 the next day. The little plastic bottles rattled in his pocket and he held the small, portable Pensieve in his hands. He paused outside the door and, checking no-one was watching, pulled out his wand to alter the wards. What was it about Malfoy that made Harry break the rules?

Malfoy didn't bother to insult him when he entered. He didn't even bother to look at him. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed with his face buried in his hands. Harry tried not to panic.

“Hello again, Draco. I'm here to offer you a deal.”

Malfoy did nothing, so Harry carried on.

“You show me one nightmare and I'll show you one thing that happened to me.”

Malfoy didn't respond and a spark of irritation flared in Harry. Slowly, Malfoy lifted his head toward him. Harry was relieved to see he wasn't crying, until he saw the contempt in his narrowed eyes. Malfoy took in the Pensieve in Harry's arms.

“So I'm supposed to share memories of the Dark Lord and in return I'm forced to watch the charmed life of the Chosen One?”

Harry opened his mouth to argue and found no obvious retort. Of course, his plan did sort of rely on the fact that Malfoy might be interested in Harry's life.

“Potter. Usually when you make a deal, you offer the other person something they actually want. Not something that would bore them to death.”

Malfoy cocked his head, so that a strand of blond hair fell over one eye. His chin looked even more pointed at that angle.

“Unless this is stage two of your attempt to finish me off.”

“I am not trying to... to finish you off.”

Point number 4 in _Living with Nightmares_ rose in Harry's mind and he pictured Malfoy writhing beneath his bed covers. He crushed the image, appalled at how inappropriate it was, but not before he felt heat creep up his neck.

“Look, I'm just offering a... fair swap. You give me one nightmare and I'll show you whatever you want to know about me.”

When it was clear Malfoy wasn't going to say anything, Harry walked to the bathroom.

It was small and cramped – a complete contrast to the sparse room he'd just come from. There was a toilet beside the door and a sink on the opposite wall. A shower was to one side with an off-white curtain hanging loosely in the corner. There was a wooden stand in one corner, slightly shirted than Harry, with six shelves. The ones at the bottom had towels, but they were otherwise empty; presumably patients were supposed to put their own belongings on them.

He put the Pensieve on the side of the sink and placed the collection of bottles carefully on the top shelf of the stand. He pulled out his wand and spelled them all with the automatic memory-extracting charm. He imagined Hermione's proud face when he was done and went back to Malfoy.

“I've taken down the magic-cancelling wards on the bathroom – I'd, erm, appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about that. Anyway, after you have a nightmare you just have to hold one of the bottles in there,” he pointed back to the bathroom, “and it'll take the memory itself.”

“Perfect,” Malfoy said dryly. “So I get to shit out of my arse and head at the same time.”

Harry refrained from arguing. He walked to the door and, surprised to see Malfoy watching him when he pulled it open, tried for one last persuasive remark.

“Think about the money you could make talking to _The Prophet._ ”

When he was safely outside he prayed if Malfoy took him up on his offer he wouldn't sell all Harry's memories to the newspapers. Why on Earth had he even put that idea in Malfoy's head?

\+ + +

It was gone midnight and Harry couldn't sleep. Every time he drifted off he dreamt of Malfoy trying something dangerous in the now ward-less bathroom. And what if he did something stupid with the Pensieve? It was quite heavy, even if it was small. Harry decided to go back to the hospital.

He grabbed an Extendible Ear, another jumper and his invisibility cloak, and stepped into his fireplace.

Under the cloak, none of the night staff saw him walk through the lobby and, as usual, corridor B3 was deserted. He settled himself on the floor outside Malfoy's room and fished the Ear out from his pocket. Carefully, he pushed one end beneath Malfoy's door, past the Imperturbable Charm, and raised the other to his own ear.

A loud cry echoed in his skull and he reared back, smacking his head on the wall. He flung the Ear to the ground and burst inside Malfoy's room.

Malfoy was lying sprawled in his bed, the too-bright starlight shining in through the window. The covers were pushed down to his waist again and his top had risen up, exposing a patch of pale, flat stomach. Malfoy gave another cry, desperate and pitiful, and Harry rushed to the bed.

He reached out to tilt Malfoy's head to one side, in case he threw up again. Immediately, Malfoy's hands sprang up and grabbed Harry's arm. The screams stopped, replaced by small choking breaths. Harry waited for Malfoy to let go, but after a few minutes Malfoy's hands hadn't moved and after about ten minutes, Harry's side began to ache.

He perched himself gingerly on the edge of the bed while Malfoy clung to him. Every now and then Malfoy's fingers would tighten while his head jerked slightly. Harry held his breath each time, terrified Malfoy would wake up and be furious when he saw Harry sitting next to him.

Eventually it became clear Malfoy wasn't going to wake up or let go any time soon. Harry shifted to lean back against the headboard, swinging his legs up onto the bed. If he was going to stay in this ridiculous position with Malfoy, he could at least be comfortable. The arm Malfoy was clutching was pulled awkwardly across his body and he pushed the pillow slightly to the side to make room for himself.

He watched Malfoy for a while. His face was darker now that Harry was blocking the light from the window, but Harry could still make out a small frown line and the curve of his nostrils. His lips were slightly parted and fuller than Harry would have guessed. They looked almost inviting when they weren't pulled into a sneer.

Harry must have dozed off because the next time he looked down, Malfoy's head was pushed up against his leg. His open mouth made Harry's robe flutter each time he breathed out. His fingers were still wrapped tightly around the curve of Harry's elbow and one arm was thrown out across Harry's lap.

Harry had no idea what time it was when Malfoy finally woke. He watched him closely; Malfoy's eyes fluttered open and, after a brief pause, he shoved Harry's arm away and recoiled in the bed. Harry stepped down and dragged the chair by the window over to Malfoy's bed. He leaned back against the hard plastic, trying and failing to make himself comfortable. He wondered how many relatives had been forced to sit in such discomfort while they visited a loved one and vowed to transfigure all the chairs in his patients' rooms to comfy armchairs – starting with this one.

Malfoy was lying on his back, but his short, shallow breathing betrayed the fact that he was still awake. Harry wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, neither one of them speaking nor moving.

“The Dark Lord tortures me.”

Malfoy's voice cracked, as it had that night on the Astronomy Tower. His eyes were closed.

“And no matter how hard I beg, I can hear him laughing, promising it will get worse.”

Harry sat fixed in place. He couldn't think of anything to say. He thought back to what Hermione had said: _put yourself in his shoes._ If it were Harry in bed and Malfoy the Healer, Harry doubted there would be anything he'd want to hear Malfoy say to him. The realisation hit Harry with the force of the speeding Hogwarts Express: he couldn't help Malfoy and he wanted to.

Malfoy's eyes were still shut. Harry went into the bathroom and splashed his face with water. He wondered if he and Malfoy were the only living people outside of Azkaban who knew what it was like to be tortured by Voldemort.

The Pensieve sat where he'd left it on the edge of the sink. The weight of it in his hands felt comforting and he turned it thoughtfully, until he made a decision.

He lifted his wand-tip to his forehead and pulled out a silver thread. It danced on his wand and he had to shake it to get it to fall off.

Malfoy was watching him closely when he came back into the room, but when Harry beckoned to the bathroom, Malfoy followed without question. Harry sat on the floor with his back against the pipes under the sink and Malfoy did the same on the adjacent wall. He set the Pensieve on the floor in front of them. Malfoy paused for only a moment before he ducked his head forward. Taking a deep breath, Harry followed.

The graveyard was darker than Harry remembered. He knew Tom Riddle's tombstone was somewhere close by, but he couldn't make out anything in the gloom. He looked for Malfoy and noticed the light shining off his hair.

Behind them stood the circle of Death Eaters with Voldemort speaking softly from the centre. His eyes glowed red and angry in his flat face as he looked around at his followers. Malfoy's arm twitched and Harry fought to control his own irrational fear.

“...the boy you all believed had been my downfall....”

Voldemort turned to face his father's tombstone and Harry saw his memory-self. He was bound by ropes to the granite block and he wore a horrified expression on his face. Voldemort raised his wand and his cry of _Crucio_ shot through the graveyard.

His memory-self thrashed against the ropes. Harry was reminded of the first time he'd seen Malfoy at St. Mungo's. His face was contorted with pain and he was yelling at the top of his lungs, barely pausing for breath.

Harry turned to Malfoy and saw that he was staring at Harry's memory self. His eyebrows were furrowed as if it hurt him to watch and every now and then he would wince as Harry's head cracked against the stone.

Harry touched Malfoy's arm and there was a tug behind his navel as they were pulled out of the memory.

They landed back in the bathroom, sitting in the same place they had been minutes before and with Harry's fingers still curled around Malfoy's arm. He let go quickly, but Malfoy didn't seem to notice. He just slumped back against the wall.

The bathroom felt smaller and Harry was very aware of Malfoy's body just inches from his own. He shifted against the sink. Should he wait to see if Malfoy was okay or give him some privacy? In the end, Malfoy broke the silence.

“How many times?” he whispered.

It took Harry a second to realise what Malfoy meant.

“Three. Twice in that graveyard and once when he thought he'd killed me at the end.”

“I tried, once,” Malfoy said humourlessly.

“Yeah, well, I think I made up for that.”

Malfoy managed a weak snort. Harry watched him for long minutes as his eyelashes fell to his cheeks and his breathing became heavier.

“Draco, how many times for you?”

Malfoy just shook his head before sleep took over.

Slowly, Malfoy slid down the wall to lie on the cold bathroom floor. As gently as he could, Harry lifted and carried him back to the bed. Luckily he was quite light and deep asleep as Harry laid him down and left the room.

Harry paced the corridor for a while, before striding towards to the small waiting area by the ward's reception desk. He levitated a chair back to B3 and transfigured it into a small sofa before he placed it opposite Malfoy's door. He had the Extendible Ear back in place in case Malfoy had more nightmares, then he curled up and tried not to think of Little Hangleton.

\+ + +

After a few hours it became obvious he wasn't going to sleep. A quick _Tempus_ told him it was 5 am and Harry decided to give up. He returned the borrowed furniture and left the hospital. For once, he didn't Floo, but stepped through the department shop window onto the street. It was blessedly empty and, as he breathed in the cool air, even the lingering smell of rubbish from the black bins piled up nearby couldn't stop him from feeling refreshed.

He wandered around the empty roads, savouring the early morning lull before harried Muggles crowded the streets and loud London traffic clogged the raods. The first rays of morning sun shone through the gaps between buildings, although it wasn't yet strong enough to warm him.

He looked into the shops as he passed, dark and quiet for the time being. A sign caught his eye: _London's Finest Teas._

Harry paused. Why not?

He tried to remember the the sort of tea Aunt Petunia drank while he waited for the shop to open, but without success. In the end, Harry left with exactly what he’d been promised: a selection of the best tea from around the world.

He ducked into a large Muggle shop next, flipping pages in the small, thick catalogue until he found what he was looking for. He paid on his Muggle bank card—something Hermione had insisted he and Ron always have on them—and carried the box out of the shop.

He just had time to Apparate home, change clothes and gulp a Revitalising Potion before Floo'ing to work again.

\+ + +

The day was busy—a large group of campers had been attacked by Red Caps in Stromness—but eventually Harry had enough of a break to check on Malfoy. He collected his early morning purchases from his locker and, ignoring a few curious glances, walked the familiar path to corridor B3.

What had he expected?

That their relationship should somehow change because only a few hours ago Malfoy had opened up about his nightmare and Harry had shared a memory that had traumatised him for months? Apparently not, if Malfoy had anything to do with it. He was an even bigger wanker than before.

“I'm not a fucking squib yet, Potter!”

Harry strode to the recently-transfigured armchair and dumped the bag of tea and the battery-operated kettle on it.

“You will be a squib if you carry on like this.”

“Just take your Muggle shit and get out, Potter.”

“Don't you want your wand back?”

For a second, Malfoy's mask slipped and pure fear was unmistakeable beneath his fury. The next moment, it was gone.

“I told you to leave!”

Harry was close enough to see beads of sweat appear on Malfoy's hairline and he held his hands up.

“Okay, I'm going. Let me know when you're ready to try again with the memories.”

“There won't be an _again,_ Potter. Get it through your thick skull: I'm not doing it.”

“Get it through yours, Draco: I'm not giving up.”

Harry saw the muscles in Malfoy's cheek clench as his jawline became even sharper. The bed clothes scrunched under his fist.

“Can't stop playing the Saviour, can you? Even now.”

Harry took a deep breath. He would not lose his temper this time.

“I'm not playing anything Draco. I'm your Healer and I want to help you.”

“Like you helped the dead Weasley twin? And the werewolf and his wife-”

Harry's fist slammed into Malfoy's sharp jaw with a crunch.

\+ + +

He got on with his work as best he could, but Malfoy's words still rang in his ears. He was almost grateful to whomever had sold the cursed books because for the hour and twenty-two minutes Harry was in the emergency room, he wasn't thinking about Malfoy.

He tossed and turned all night, furious at Malfoy for what he'd said and furious at himself for his reaction. He wondered if Malfoy would tell someone he'd hit him and get Harry suspended. Surely Malfoy wouldn't even have to say anything – the Carers would see the bruise he'd probably left on Malfoy's pale skin.

Harry vowed to stay away from Malfoy until he heard from him first. It was harder than he expected. He spent the first morning snapping at colleagues and nearly shouted at a mother whose son had been brought in attached to a Hand of Glory. It took Harry ages to remove the thing and he thought of Malfoy the whole time.

It was embarrassing to explain why patients' charts became crumpled balls of parchment after Harry's visits or why bottles mysteriously smashed when he was in the room. Even more embarrassing was the way he remembered Malfoy's fingers tightly clasped around his arm and his soft breath against his leg. Or how he could recall the exact shape of the crease between Malfoy's eyebrows when he slept.

After three days of silence from Malfoy, Harry was restless. His fourth Tempus charm in the last fifteen minutes told him it was one in the morning, but he couldn't sleep. He decided to Floo to work, just to check that Malfoy wasn't having another nightmare, and then perhaps he'd be able to get some rest.

He crept down corridor B3, his shadow flickering with the light.

Malfoy was screaming again.

Without thinking, Harry climbed back into the bed. He lay down fully this time, trying to avoid the occasional flailing leg or arm. It was awkward at first, but he managed to pin Malfoy next to him by weaving his arm under Malfoy's neck and lifting Malfoy's head to lie on his shoulder. Eventually Malfoy relaxed against him.

Working on the Albus Dumbledore ward, Harry had seen many patients suffering from traumas during the war—including one case where a man had been cursed to relieve the worst moments in his life as if he were followed around by a permanent Dementor—but he'd never personally visited them in the night before. He told himself it was because Malfoy didn't deserve to have his magic taken away after everything he'd lost, and it wasn't like any other Healer was going to do it.

When Malfoy woke an hour or so later Harry left without a word. He remained camped outside Malfoy's room with the Extendible Ear in case of another nightmare, but it never came.

The following week continued in the same strange way. During the day, Harry would stay out of corridor B3, focusing on his other patients and helping out where necessary, but at night he would creep back into the hospital and hold Malfoy until the screams faded to sobs and eventually to the occasional soft snore. Neither of them ever said anything and Harry always left as soon as Malfoy woke. He usually managed a few hours sleep in his own bed before showering and coming back into work.

Each night, Harry hoped Malfoy would contact him the next day, and each day he was disappointed. He even began wishing he _had_ left a bruise on Malfoy's face just so that a Carer would confront him about it and he'd be forced to apologise before she suspended him.

On Friday, Harry finally gave in and found Chloe sitting behind the ward reception desk. She smiled at him as he approached.

“How's Draco?” he asked.

Her face fell.

“Worse,” she huffed, looking back down at her paperwork.

Harry's throat tightened. What had happened? “What do you mean, 'worse'?”

“He's ruder and more obnoxious than ever. When I went in today he complained about the food, the temperature, the staff, everything. He even gave me a list of things he wanted me to buy for him!”

Harry nearly laughed. He never thought he'd see the day when news of Malfoy being rude and obnoxious comforted him.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry continued his nightly visits to Malfoy the following week, but it wasn't until Wednesday that he heard anything from him during his working hours.

He was checking the board of today's admitted patients when Chloe came up to him carrying a newspaper. She didn't look happy.

“He told me to give this to you,” she said sullenly as she dropped it onto a nearby table.

The tone of her voice left Harry in no doubt of whom he was.

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

He opened the first page as soon as she'd gone, utterly confused. There was nothing out of the ordinary until he reached page 12. The gossip pages.

 _Harry Potter dumped by girlfriend amid cheating rumours!_

The article covered the whole page and it was circled with black ink. It looked like Malfoy didn't have a very good quill; he'd had to circle it about five times before the ink made a noticeable mark.

Harry whipped the paper shut, incensed. How dare Malfoy ask for details of his private life? He had no right to look at Harry's most personal memories. Especially not this one.

He fumed for the rest of his shift and when it finished, he marched straight to corridor B3.

He planned on telling Malfoy to get stuffed. There was no way he was going to show him this, it was absolutely none of his business! He'd obviously chosen it because he thought it would annoy Harry. But when he saw Malfoy, he had that glint in his eyes; a challenge to a midnight duel, a dare to fly a broomstick for the first time, an irresistible, insatiable expression.

“Fine,” Harry heard himself snap, “but you're going first.”

Malfoy smirked at him and led the way to the bathroom. He grabbed a bottle from the top shelf on the wooden stand and tossed it at Harry. At least Harry assumed he was aiming at him; he had to dive across the toilet to catch it. He wondered whether Malfoy half-wanted it to smash and let the memory escape.

They took the same positions as before; Harry sitting with his back against the sink plumbing and Malfoy against the wall. Harry waited. He wasn't exactly sure what for, but he supposed he wanted some sort of permission from Malfoy before they did this.

“Well, get on with it, Potter.”

That was probably as good as he would ever get, and Harry tipped the bottle in the Pensieve. The memory bumped silently against the stone as Harry held the Pensieve out for Malfoy.

“Draco. We're doing this together.”

Malfoy looked past him and didn't budge. Harry set the bowl on the floor and, leaning forward, bent his head in. He desperately hoped Malfoy would follow.

He landed in a room he'd never seen before. It was dark and gloomy and Harry thought it was unlikely to be Malfoy Manor. Harry could make out the memory version of Malfoy standing in the middle of the room, facing him with eyes fixed on something behind Harry. Harry turned slowly, already knowing who he would see.

Voldemort's hairless head emerged from long black robes, and the red slits for eyes stared unblinkingly out. Harry backed away, until he stood against the wall behind the memory-Draco.

“So young Malfoy can cast a Cruciatus at least,” Voldemort said softly. He pointed a long finger at the floor. “Remove him.”

Bellatrix Lestrange moved forward with her wand aimed in the same direction as Voldemort’s finger and Harry noticed a stout figure for the first time as he was flung across the room. There was a clang of metal and Harry realised it was probably Wormtail. Now that his eyes had adjusted, Harry saw lots more cloaked figures lining the walls, the little light in the room reflecting off their silver masks.

A brush against his robes made Harry jump out of his skin. Present-day Draco stood next to him.

“Good of you to join me,” Harry snapped.

“Don't worry, Potter,” Draco said humourlessly. “The good part's coming up.”

Voldemort flicked his wand carelessly and a door behind two Death Eaters opened.

“But I wonder,” Voldemort was saying a Death Eater led another cloaked man through the door to stand in front of both Dracos and Harry, “can young Malfoy cast a Cruciatus on my orders?”

The cloaked man lifted his gaze and Harry recognised the strong features of Narcissa Malfoy. She held her head high, but her eyes betrayed her fear.

“Come now, Draco. A little punishment for your mother's failure to marry a capable husband.”

The Death Eaters around the room laughed, but Harry had his eyes fixed on memory-Draco. His wand hung loosely at a side and he was shaking so violently his cloak was churning up small dust clouds around his feet.

“No,” he choked out. “I... I can't. Please...”

Voldemort let out a long breath as he withdrew his wand.

“I do not tolerate disloyalty, Draco. Something your father would do well to remember.”

He raised his wand at memory-Draco and Harry flinched.

“ _Imperio!_ ”

Harry watched in horror as, seconds later, memory-Draco stopped shaking, aimed his wand at his mother and whispered the spell. Harry felt sick. Narcissa was screaming, her body bent unnaturally backward, as Draco cast again and again, his voice hard.

Harry blinked against the bright lights in the bathroom. The Pensieve stood innocently on the floor. Luckily Draco's eyes were shut so he didn't see Harry shaking with rage.

He stood up; his legs felt wobbly under his weight. He took two steps across the room and shoved the plastic bottles from the top shelf of the stand. They hit the sink, toilet and floor with soft pings, but he continued to beat a fist against the wood until a crack formed, the skin of his knuckles stung, and little specks of blood dotted his fingers. Harry didn’t stop until the shelf collapsed completely.

He took deep breaths. When he turned, he saw Draco eyeing him warily from the floor.

“Draco. I- I didn't know.”

“Why would you know?” Draco countered bitterly. He trapped a spinning bottle under his palm.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“What do you mean _it wasn't my fault?_ I cast the Cruciatus Curse on my own mother, Potter-”

“No. Voldemort made you cast the Cruciatus Curse on your mother. There's a difference.”

“I still did it.”

Anger flared again in Harry's stomach. He'd known things wouldn't suddenly be perfect after Voldemort's death—the number of patients this ward had seen since was testament to that—but he had hoped the end of the war would be a catalyst for people to begin to heal. Yet here was proof that it wasn't: Draco Malfoy, who Harry was slowly suspecting had suffered more than most, was still haunted by Voldemort and there wasn't anything Harry could do or say to stop it.

“Do you blame Madam Rosmerta for giving Katie Bell that necklace in sixth year?”

It came out harsher than he'd intended but once he'd said it, he didn't apologise. Draco scowled back at him. It wasn't very nice to bring Draco's previous actions up, he knew, but since when had anything between him and Draco been _nice?_

“That has nothing-”

“It has everything to do with it, Draco. If you're going to blame people for their actions under Imperius, at least be consistent with it. If you are to blame for what Voldemort made you do, so are Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell for what they did. You can't take the credit for both.”

Draco huffed.

“I should have resisted it.”

“No-one resists it. That's the whole point.”

“You did,” Draco muttered, so quietly that Harry almost missed it.

“Yeah, on the fifth go by a crazy escaped Death Eater. And it was 50-50 with Voldemort. Once I fought it, but once I didn't.” His chest was heaving and he forced himself to calm down. “I guess I was just lucky he'd already killed my mother.”

Draco's shoulders slumped. He let out a long, shaking breath. Harry had the overwhelming urge to hold him again.

“It's your turn,” Draco said.

Harry didn't answer. He touched his wand to his temple and withdrew the memory Draco had circled in the papers.

He felt that he should say something-- _anything,_ \--to comfort Draco, but truth be told, he had no idea what to say. Besides which, Draco didn't look like he wanted to talk any more.

This time Draco went first and Harry followed seconds later. They arrived in Harry and Ginny's old flat and Harry's anger evaporated to be replaced by terror at what he was about to show Draco.

They'd moved out just days after this very event: Ginny back to her parents and Harry to Ron and Hermione's sofa. To say his and Ron's relationship had been strained would be an understatement, but they'd got through it.

He remembered the moment of course, but it was different seeing it from the outside, as it were. He didn't think it would look so, well, like something out of the adult section of _Wizards Weekly_ if he was honest.

His memory-self was naked on his hands and knees on the bed, while an equally-naked man knelt behind him, quite obviously fucking him. Most of Harry's body was hidden and only his bare back and the back of his head were on display. The man grunted as he slammed his hips forward into memory-Harry and Harry was relieved that he couldn't see the man's face.

Long, humiliating moments passed until Ginny appeared and the wanton memory-Harry moaned on the bed the whole time. Eventually, Ginny stepped through the door and Harry watched, horrified, as her expression changed from shocked to devastated. She let out a half-gasp, half-shout and turned and fled. Memory-Harry shot around in the bed as the door closed behind her and Harry was relieved to feel himself transported back to the present.

He knew his face was bright red when he arrived back in the destroyed bathroom. He avoided looking at Draco and stood up quickly.

“See you later,” he managed, before racing to the corridor.

\+ + +

Harry felt a horrible mixture of embarrassment and stupidity; he didn't know how he'd ever look at Draco again. His face burned every time he thought about what they'd seen in the Pensieve. It didn't help that he'd ended up wanking as soon as he got home to almost the same memory, with just one quite major change.

Luckily, Harry was spared seeing him that night as Draco didn't have a single nightmare and Harry slept soundly in the corridor.

He grabbed breakfast in the staff canteen and checked in on the ward's other patients. He was soon called to the emergency room to help a woman who'd been attacked by a Lethifold. She had been half-suffocated in her bed before she'd managed to produce a Patronus and Harry spent hours eliminating all traces of the creature from her body. When he was finished he collapsed exhausted in the staff lounge.

He'd only been there 10 minutes when Chloe came in to hand him another paper, but he was too tired to open it right then and he stashed it away in his robe for later.

When Harry found time to see Draco, he didn't mention Harry's previous memory and Hell would freeze over before Harry brought it up. However, Draco didn't mention much at all; he just handed Harry another bottle as soon as they were settled in the bathroom.

Harry was almost scared to look at this one, but he dipped his head into the Pensieve, followed by Draco.

They were standing in the corner of a large, opulent dining room. Harry recognised it at once and so, presumably, did Draco. Voldemort sat at the head of the long table and the Death Eaters filled out the sides. Except memory-Draco. He stood at the other end of the table, opposite Voldemort.

It was almost like Harry's vision during the war, but this time a man hung suspended in the air, gently rotating above the table. Occasionally, his feet would bump the chandelier, causing hundreds of tiny glass droplets to clink against each other. It had the effect of making the room feel colder.

“Kill him.”

It was the Astronomy Tower all over again. Memory-Draco had his wand trained on the floating man, but Dumbledore had been right: he wasn't a killer.

“Please... I can't.”

After agonisingly long seconds, Voldemort motioned at another Death Eater, who pulled his wand out from his robes. There was a green flash and the man landed with a thump on the table. Harry looked away when a slithering sound signalled his body would be soon dealt with.

Memory-Draco sank to his knees in relief, but Voldemort merely laughed.

“Oh no, Draco. If you can't kill Phillips, then you will suffer punishment. Not my punishment, you will feel the punishment Muggle-lovers like him though fit for wizards.”

Voldemort flicked his wand and there was a sudden crackling, followed by a familiar screaming. Flames burst into life at memory-Draco's feet and he leapt to a standing position as he cried out in pain. His feet looked stuck to the floor and he swung his arms and upper body wildly to try to move them, but they wouldn't budge. The Death Eaters around the table laughed cruelly. Draco's trousers were on fire now, the flames lunging at his calves, and mingled with the smoke was the disgusting smell of burning flesh.

Suddenly the room felt too hot. Even as Harry looked at memory-Draco, the air around him shimmered. His face shone with sweat and tears that spilt freely from his eyes.

With a jolt, Harry was back in St. Mungo's. He heard Draco land beside him and rest his head back against the wall. Harry gratefully breathed the cool air.

Moving as little as possible, he glanced sideways at Draco. His legs were stretched out in front of him with his bare feet poking out the bottom of the hospital trousers. The skin on his feet was free of burn marks and looked almost soft. Harry had a sudden vision of the Manor's House Elves performing regular pedicures. Draco's upper body was leaning against the wall with his head tipped back. The usual long-sleeved top covered his chest and arms, but was tight enough for Harry to see the outline of faint muscles. His neck was long and smooth skin stretched over his Adam's apple up to his jaw. Harry raised his eyes to Draco's face and found him staring straight back under half-closed lids. Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I...er, you don't have any burn marks.”

“I've had a lot of practise with healing spells.”

Harry just nodded. He remembered Hermione's healing skills while they were hunting Horcruxes.

“Who was the man in the memory?”

“Worked for the Ministry. Head of the Muggle Liaison Office. I never knew his first name.”

They fell quiet again while Harry wondered how many people Voldemort had killed on Draco's dining room table. Did Draco still eat there?

After a few minutes, Draco sat forward. His eyes sparkled dangerously.

“So, time for another glimpse into your sex life then, Potter?”

Harry yanked the paper from his robe pocket and buried his head in it to hide his blush. Draco laughed as he scanned page after page. There was nothing circled or marked in any way, and Harry wondered whether Draco was trying to insult him about his lack of sex life. Then, on the very back page, Draco had made a black mark at the top.

The headline was in big bold letters: _Falcons take Quidditch Cup!_

Harry had indeed been at the game, but he wondered briefly how Draco knew until he caught his own name about two thirds into the article.

 _The match was watched by Chudley Canons supporter Harry Potter, who, for all his heroic deeds, couldn't help the Canons win their first league cup in over a century._

There was even a little picture of him and Ron in the stands. Ron's hair was almost camouflaged with the orange Canons supporters' shirts and flags. He looked back at Draco, slightly confused.

“I want to see the game.” Draco said. “And it looks like you have better seats than last time I saw you at a Quidditch match.”

Harry remembered Draco at the World Cup. He opened his mouth preparing to tell him to shut up, but Draco was quicker. He looked a bit pained.

“I was an idiot then. Okay?”

Harry shut his mouth with a snap. Was that a Malfoy-style apology?

“Sure, okay.”

He pulled out his wand and raised it to his temple.

“And I thought it could be fun to see the Quidditch match together,” Draco went on. “Now I know you fly for the other team.”

Harry's wand nearly slipped out of his hands.

“What?” he managed to croak.

“It says there you support the Canons,” Draco spoke as if explaining the obvious. “I support the Falcons.”

Harry coughed and looked away, concentrating on the memory, but he felt Draco's smirk.

Back in Draco's room, they got into a fierce debate over whether Jenson could out-fly Foskett and if Davies would ever fly for England again and, most importantly, whether Price was leaving the Canons at the end of the season. Harry took the position that of course Price would stay another season, even though only last week he'd said the same thing himself to Ron. And for two hours, interrupted only when Draco made two cups of tea, Harry forgot he was a Healer talking to a patient.

\+ + +

Draco was silent again that night and Harry fought the urge to go and lie next to him anyway.

The time he spent with Draco was slowly shifting from night-time to daytime. While Harry missed the company during the night, and his neck certainly missed the bed as opposed to the sofa, he was pleased the nightmares were becoming less frequent. If things carried on like this Draco might be discharged and allowed to keep his magic. It was more than Harry had hoped for before.

But he couldn't quite shake the twinge of disappointment, or was it anxiety, when he thought about Draco leaving. Of course, he wanted Draco to be able to move on with his life, but he wasn't naïve enough to think he would still be in it. Draco would probably just disappear again, like he did five years ago.

\+ + +

“Our newest recruit.”

Harry was able to see memory-Draco clearly. He was kneeling in front of Voldemort, while the ever-present circle of Death Eaters looked on. Draco looked a lot healthier than he did now; his face wasn't so drawn and pale, but radiated pride.

Voldemort leaned down and touched the tip of his wand to Draco's exposed forearm. He moved it in a complicated pattern and soon the outline of a Dark Mark began to appear. It was almost exactly as Harry had expected except it glistened bright red.

Draco gasped from the floor as more and more blood flowed from his arm and Voldemort laughed softly above him.

When they were out of the memory, Harry looked at Draco's left arm. Draco didn't move it but he didn't lift his sleeve either. He looked angry; he was frowning at the broken stand.

“Not that joining the Death Eaters isn't horrible, but that didn't seem as bad as the others,” Harry said carefully.

“It was the biggest mistake of my life,” Draco snapped. “And I didn't even know it at the time. I was so stupid!”

“We all make mistakes,” Harry said softly.

Draco scoffed.

“I don't recall you joining the Death Eaters.”

“I never had the chance,” Harry snapped back.

Draco looked at him disbelievingly and suddenly Harry felt the words tumbling out.

“And you know why? Because I, like you, didn't have a say in most of my life back then. Not really. Sure, I could have not tried to save the lives of everyone I ever cared about, but that was never really an option.” _For either of us._

Draco was staring at him so intently now that Harry began to feel nervous. He hadn't meant to go on about himself—he was supposed to be helping Draco talk about his experiences—but he couldn't help it. Hermione was right; she and Ron had each other to talk to about what happened during the war, but Harry had never opened up to anybody about it. He shifted against the pipes.

“I mean, I'm not saying it was easy – it wasn't. It was bloody hard and terrifying sometimes. But the alternative was unthinkable.”

He looked at the tiles on the opposite wall. Perfectly arranged, like they'd been put up there by magic.

“Did you know my life was decided before I was even born? The Prophecy—the one Voldemort wanted from the Department of Mysteries—was made months before I was born.” He gave a weak snort. “It wasn't even definitely about me. It could have been Neville.”

“Longbottom?” Harry could imagine Draco wrinkling his nose. “Well, I'm glad it was you. I mean...glad that the fate of the world wasn't left up to Longbottom and his Remembrall.”

Harry just smiled, his eyes travelling along a thin line of plaster between tiles.

“Neville's one half of the best trainee Aurors in the country,” he said mildly.

“One half? He's half an Auror?”

Harry looked at Draco finally.

“It was other people's choices that decided my life until I was 17. You had no more say in that scar than I had in this one.” He touched his forehead where the skin was still raised in a lightning bolt shape.

Draco's arm gave an involuntarily twitch, but he kept his hands were they were.

“Don't try to make me guilt-free, Potter,” he warned. “I am a coward. I made bad choices in my life and I deserve to take responsibility for them.”

“Of course you made bad choices,” Harry nearly shouted at him. “You made some really fucking shit choices actually. But so did I. I got the last family member I had left killed. But you also made some good ones. The Astronomy Tower? The Manor when the snatchers got me? Stopping Crabbe killing me? Every time you refused to do what Voldemort told you to do in the memories you've shown me?”

Draco was still staring at him, his grey eyes blinking rapidly.

“How does it feel now?” Harry asked lightly, gesturing to Draco's arm. The change of subject wasn't subtle, but Draco didn't call him on it.

“It doesn't hurt now he's gone.”

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

“I can't. It's Dark Magic. I'm surprised I was even let in here, I thought St. Mungo's checked for Dark curses when patients arrived.”

Healer Jones had told Harry they'd checked him. He made a mental note to thank her.

Draco rolled onto his side to reach the toilet seat. His top rode up slightly as he stretched and Harry stared at his sharp, exposed hip. When Draco turned back, he held out a newspaper, folded to a page near the back.

Harry recognised this one. It was Rita Skeeter's piece during the Triwizard Tournament, memorable for the rubbish she'd written about his supposed tears over his dead parents. Sure enough, the last paragraph crammed in the names of two of the other champions with no mention of Cedric.

Harry looked up at Draco. This he really didn't understand. Surely Draco didn't want to be crammed in a supply cupboard with Skeeter and Harry.

“Show me the Muggles you lived with.”

“Wha- Why?”

Draco just shrugged.

“I'm stuck in here. Your pathetic life is the only escape I get.”

Harry didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed by that. He went for professionally neutral.

While Draco took a few bites of hospital food Harry had brought him, exclaiming vehemently that it wasn't fit for a Blast-Ended Skrewt after each one, Harry desperately tried to come up with some memories he could share about the Dursleys. In the end, Draco pushed away his plastic tray before Harry had thought of anything, so he just decided to pick a selection. He withdrew three threads.

They were in the front room at Privet Drive. It was warm and the evening sun shone through the pink curtains on to the spotless carpet. The TV was on quietly and a show about a team of gardeners buzzed in the background. The only person in the room was Uncle Vernon, sitting in an armchair with his feet on the matching foot rest while he read the paper. Harry could hear noises from the kitchen and guessed Petunia was in there clearing up after dinner. His younger self and Dudley were nowhere to be seen.

Draco looked at him curiously.

“Who is this man?” he asked eventually.

“My uncle, Vernon Dudley.”

“You're related?” Draco's eyes were comically wide and Harry bit down a grin.

“Only by marriage.”

Fortunately Draco didn't seem interested in the Potter-Dursley family tree; he had turned back to the room and was staring at the TV. Harry wondered if he'd ever been in a Muggle house before.

“It runs on elec-”

“I know how it runs, Potter,” Draco said scornfully. “Why are we in this memory? Nothing's happening.”

He turned to Harry with a smirk.

“Or is this supposed to explain why you insisted on breaking rules all the time at Hogwarts? Because your childhood was so boring.”

Harry was saved replying by his own and Dudley's arrival. Dudley waddled in front of his father, holding a broken games console remote in front of him. The plastic on one side was chipped and a button had fallen off. Harry remembered Dudley had thrown it against the wall when he lost a life on his newest game.

“He broke my remote!” Dudley yelled from behind his father's paper.

Vernon was so startled his feet fell off the rest with a loud thump. Draco sniggered.

“Blast it! What is it Dudley?”

But Dudley didn't need to say anything. Vernon took one look at the snapped remote and his gaze slid to Harry standing on the threshold of the room.

“Right, that's it boy. If you can't give me a moment's peace then you're going back in that bloody cupboard.”

Vernon grabbed Harry's collar and yanked. If he meant to life Harry off the ground it didn't work. The t-shirt was one of Dudley's old ones and Vernon just succeeded in making it end at Harry's waist rather than his knees.

Vernon growled and pushed Harry out the room and down the hallway. He opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs and Harry watched his younger self being practically thrown inside before the door was slammed shut.

There was an echo around the hallway before Vernon sauntered back into the living room, promising Dudley he'd buy him a new remote first thing tomorrow. And a new game to make up for it.

“Erm... Potter?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“That cupboard isn't expanded by magic, is it?”

“No.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

“So, what? You were sent in there when you misbehaved?”

“Yes. Or when Dudley misbehaved. Or when it was time to sleep. Or when there were visitors. Or-”

“Okay, Salazar! I get the idea.”

The memory faded and instead of the usual pull back to the present day, another scene appeared smoothly in front of them.

The Reptile House was smaller than Harry remembered it. But then so was he at ten, he supposed. The Dursleys were peering at a large lizard and Harry saw himself in front of the boa constrictor tank. He walked toward his memory-self and heard himself hissing.

“What are you saying?” Draco asked at his shoulder.

“I can't speak it anymore, but I'm asking it if it misses Brazil.”

“You can't speak it anymore?”

“Not since the last Horcrux was destroyed.”

“You mean when you died?”

“Yeah.”

Harry had actually been quite relieved when he found out; the skill had never been associated with very pleasant times in his life.

Dudley shoved past memory-Harry and banged his fist against the glass. Suddenly the glass was gone and Dudley fell head first into the tank. His pudgy hand hit the glass when it reappeared, trapping him inside.

Draco's laughter drowned out the snake's hiss as it slithered past.

The scene changed again.

Harry and Draco stood in a cold, dark room. It was the overwhelming smell of seaweed that told Harry where they were. Dudley was snoring on the old sofa and Harry was tracing out a wonky cake in the dusty floor.

“What's this of?” Draco asked.

Harry paused. How to describe what happened here?

“My happiest memory. Sort of.”

Harry would have been content to just watch the memory again, but Draco interrupted every few seconds.

BOOM!

“Where's the cannon?” asked Dudley.

“Cannon?” Draco frowned.

Harry shook his head.

“Not important.”

SMASH!

The door flew off its hinges and Hagrid bent down to enter.

“He likes to make an entrance,” Draco commented.

They watched as Hagrid introduced himself and then tied Vernon's gun in a knot. Hagrid hinted at a strong drink and bent down to the fire. It roared into life.

“Aha! I knew it! He _does_ still do magic.”

Harry's smile widened.

“-- ye'll know all about Hogwarts o'course.”

“Erm – no. Sorry.” Harry heard himself squeak.

“They didn't tell you about Hogwarts?” Draco asked in surprise next to him.

Harry just shook his head.

“--wonder where yer parents learnt it all?” Hagrid was asking.

“All what?”

Hagrid's outrage was matched by Draco's.

“They didn't tell you about magic?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously, Potter, how could the most famous wizard in the world not know about magic? You just spoke to a snake.” Draco was pointing vaguely over his shoulder as if the memory was just outside the hut.

Harry shrugged. Vernon was yelling now.

“Stop! I forbid you!”

“Harry – yer a wizard.”

His younger self looked so shocked, Harry almost laughed. He glanced at Draco and saw a matching expression of disbelief.

Hagrid was writing on a piece of parchment and Harry saw himself finally read the long-awaited letter. Petunia started shrieking soon after and Harry waited for what he knew was coming. The colour drained from his young face.

“Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash.”

“ _They didn't tell you the Dark Lord murdered your parents?_ ”

Hagrid began explaining about how Harry's parents had really died and even about Voldemort, but Harry wasn't listening. He looked at his small, scared younger self. He wanted to tell him it would be okay, that he'd see his parents again, that he was about to enter a world that would give him the best family he'd ever known.

Harry could hear more arguing but it sounded very far away. Draco's voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.

“Potter, stop it. This is a joke. It has to be.”

Draco wasn't paying attention to the memory any more. He was staring at Harry. Harry shook his head.

“Well, what did you mean this is your happiest memory?”

And suddenly the words came to him.

“I escaped,” he said simply.

Draco just carried on looking at him until Harry felt himself get nervous again. He was extraordinarily grateful for the tug that dumped them back in the hospital. Draco was still looking at him.

“And you defend Muggles?” Draco's voice was incredulous.

“They're not all like that.”

“No, but they would be if they knew about us.”

“Which is why they don't,” Harry said patiently.

“Potter! Don't keep defending them! Those Muggles were complete bastards.”

“Maybe. But there are bastards in our world too.”

Draco harrumphed and fell back against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest.

It wasn't until Harry was in the lobby on his way home that he realised: Draco's Muggle rant had been on _his_ behalf.


	4. Chapter 4

The nightmare was over almost as soon as Harry settled himself in the bed. Draco's eyes opened and silently flicked around the room until they rested on Harry lying inches away. Then he rolled over and fell back asleep.

Harry knew he should leave; it was some unspoken rule he and Draco had agreed upon, but he really didn't want to go. The bed was soft and Draco was so peaceful now and would it really hurt to stay for just a few more minutes?

He woke to the glare of the bright hospital light. He sat up and reached for his glasses. He pulled his wand from his robe and cast a _Tempus._ Nothing happened.

With a jolt, he remembered where he was. He looked to his side, scared what Draco would say about Harry staying the whole night, but he was gone.

Panic ballooned in Harry's chest, before he heard loud splashing coming from the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair and climbed out of bed. He was just wondering what the correct morning etiquette for sleeping with one's patient was when the bathroom door swung open.

Draco stepped out in a cloud of steam. He had a towel tightly wrapped around his narrow hips and his head was tipped down as he rubbed his hair with another.

Everything about him was too sharp. His shoulders jutted out and there were deep shadows between his neck and collarbone. Water dripped from the ends of his hair onto his chest, where his nipples stood out against the rest of his pale white skin. A few of his ribs were clearly visible nestled amongst the smooth dips on his flat stomach. Harry couldn't take his eyes off him.

Draco threw the towel he was holding onto the chair and looked up.

His hair fell in wet clumps around his face, darker than Harry had ever seen it. The light made his face glisten with residual water and his eyes were bright. His cheeks didn't look as hollow as when he'd first been admitted and Harry saw the beginnings of dimples appear when he gave a tiny half-smile.

He was gorgeous. Harry's heart clattered against his ribs so loud he was sure he could hear it knocking the bone.

Draco gave him a strange look and Harry realised someone was knocking at the door. He nearly groaned, but Draco called them in, tightening his towel.

A Carer Harry couldn't remember the name of walked in. He took in Draco for a few seconds before turning to Harry.

“Healer Potter. You're wanted upstairs.”

“Right, thanks.”

The bloody man just stayed where he was so Harry turned to Draco.

“I'll be back at lunch.”

Draco nodded and Harry tore his eyes away to follow the Carer out of the room, hastily rearranging his robes.

\+ + +

There was a crowd of five people outside the Emergency Room. Harry recognised Healer Jones and Healer Smethwyck from the Creatures Induced Injuries ward. They were arguing with a man and woman in smart Ministry robes, who looked unapologetic. Beside them stood Hermione. Harry rushed up to her.

She made a strangled noise when she saw him and gripped his forearms. She was looking a far cry from her normal professional self; her eyes were wide and strands of her hair had come loose from where it was clipped up at the back of her head.

“It's Abbey. She's in the Emergency Room now.”

“But this is the Dumbledore ward,” he said, confusion preventing him from going straight into the Emergency Room himself. “Why is she here? She should be taken to Creatures, one floor up.”

Hermione pointed a shaking finger at the man and woman Harry didn't recognise. They were silent now, thank Merlin.

“They gave her a potion,” she said, in a voice that shook nearly as much as her hand. “Based on the Body Regeneration potion.”

Harry felt sick. Only two weeks ago he had re-lived the night Voldemort was given a body and now someone had tried to do the same thing to an eight year old girl.

“We didn't know what to do. We couldn't heal her so we brought her here.”

“It's alright,” Harry told her, sounding more confident than he felt. “I'm going to go in and see if I can help.”

Hermione nodded and he extracted his arms from her hands before turning and going into the Emergency Room.

He recognised her at once, although she looked thinner than her photo. Little Abbey Gardiner was lying on the Healing table perfectly still. Her body didn't come anywhere near either end.

Harry followed the instructions the senior Healers gave him and after three gruelling hours, they thought they had managed to counter-act the worst of the potion.

When he was out of the Emergency Room, only one of the five people from earlier was there.

“She's stable,” Harry told the Ministry woman.

“And is she still a werewolf?”

“She is exactly the same as before you gave her a potion that nearly killed her,” he replied coldly.

He was drained. He should go home and rest. Healer Jones had given him permission to take the rest of the day off. Actually she'd more like ordered him to have the rest of the day off. But his feet carried him downstairs and along a corridor that flashed under a damaged light.

He slumped in the armchair. The bloody heather was swaying in non-existent wind.

“Well spit it out, Potter.”

Harry tried to detect sarcasm but Draco sounded genuinely curious under his brusqueness.

“There was a little girl here in the hospital a month or so ago. She was bitten by a werewolf during the war and now the Ministry want to lock her up.”

“You're telling me one of your patients is a werewolf?” Draco's voice was definitely strained now.

Harry couldn't even find the strength to argue. He wondered why on Earth he'd thought talking to Draco—champion of werewolf-haters—would be a good idea. He waited for the inevitable rant about how they were dangerous creatures and should be rounded up and killed.

“They give you all the weird cases, don't they?”

Harry snapped his head up. Draco had a small smile on his lips, though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. Harry didn't bother hiding his.

“I think I'm supposed to avoid saying weird. Challenging cases is more politically correct.”

“Well I am not politically correct.” Draco fumed. “So, you don't want the Ministry to look after your little werewolf patient then?”

“Her name's Abbey and she's not actually my patient, but no, I don't want the Ministry anywhere near her.”

“But surely they'll-”

“Exploit her, mistreat her, nearly kill her. Yeah, they're three for three so far.”

Draco was looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

“I'm sorry, it's just not fair what they're doing to her just because she was bitten by a werewolf. It's not her fault; she can't do anything about it now so why try to make her life more miserable?”

“Most people are scared of werewolves, Potter.”

Harry sighed.

“I have a godson whose father was a werewolf,” Harry explained.

“But _he's_ not one,” said Draco quickly.

Harry looked at him in surprise and Draco rolled his eyes.

“He's my first cousin once removed, Potter,” Draco drawled, “Don't worry- I'm not keeping a secret list of all werewolf-relatives for when I get out of here.”

Harry tried to look as though the thought had never crossed his mind.

“Plus,” Draco carried on in an overly cheery tone, “the Dark Lord once asked me if I would babysit my aunt's cubs.”

There was another knock on the door and, at Draco's shout, it opened to reveal Hermione standing on the threshold. Even from across the room Harry could see the redness around her eyes.

“Hermione! Come in!” His voice sounded too loud.

Hermione glanced at Draco then back at him. It probably looked odd, Harry admitted, that he was lounging around in an armchair chatting to Draco when he'd been sent home to rest.

“I asked one of the Carers where you were,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realise you were busy. I'll come back later.”

“No, stay. What is it?”

She glanced at Draco again, but he said nothing.

“It's about Abbey-,” she started.

“Of course, Granger's involved in this!” Draco burst out. “Where there's a creature suffering injustice, Granger's not far away. Tell me, how is the Weasel-domestication project going?”

Harry sent him a warning glare.

“We can leave if you'd prefer, Draco.”

“No, no,” Draco gestured at them. “Please use my hospital room for your little catch-up.”

He turned his back on Harry and Harry looked back at Hermione. He waved her inside and gave her the armchair while he leaned against the window.

“What it is?”

“When Abbey's ready to leave here, it hasn't been decided where she'll go. The whole thing will probably go in front of the Wizengamot, but after this little stunt I don't think they'll be too keen on letting Cole have her again.”

“What are the other options?” Harry asked.

“Her parents are willing to keep her at home. They have a basement and will lock her there one night every month. Or they'll put her in our care for the night. But the Ministry say it's too dangerous.”

“That's because it _is_ too dangerous,” Draco interrupted from the bed.

“What if she took Wolfsbane Potion?” Harry asked, ignoring him.

Hermione shook her head.

“But Remus-” Harry began.

“Dumbledore got Snape to brew it for him. It wasn't just because Snape was good with potions, it was because Snape knew Lupin. He could tailor the potion to him.”

Harry's confusion must have shown because Hermione launched into textbook mode.

“There's no simple recipe for Wolfsbane. You need to know about the person who will take it. You have to pick ingredients that will help the person keep their own personality, their human mind, when they change.”

She sighed.

“Besides which, no-one in the department is willing to brew it for her. I'm sure Cole has threatened anyone who offers. He says it would pave the way for other werewolves to be allowed in society, which of course it would. But the way he speaks it's obvious he thinks that would be a bad thing.”

Harry let his head fall back against the window. The cool glass pressed against his cheek.

“I can brew it.”

Harry turned. Draco was facing them again, eyes fixed on Hermione. Harry glanced at her, and she was staring back at Draco. If Harry hadn't known there was a magic-cancelling ward, he'd have sworn there was some Legilimency going on. Hermione's expression hardened and Harry recognised the look on her face; it usually meant she was about to do some rule-breaking.

“I'll need to know a bit about her,” Draco said, as if there'd not been a stare-off, “but Wolfsbane is actually much easier to brew for children than for adults. They're less corrupted by the wolf's mind during the transformation. Usually. Anyway, the main ingredients are pretty well-known. Wolfsbane obviously, and bloodroot for calming. Scarab beetles, they're the main ingredient in wit-strengthening potions, and Jobberknoll parts so she keeps her human memories. Probably Jobberknoll feathers, but I'll have to think about it. There are other things too, of course, but I think that's most of it.”

Harry stole a look a Hermione; she looked as shocked as he felt.

“When did you learn all this?” Harry asked finally.

Draco looked at him smugly.

“Not all of us were prancing around setting snakes on our relatives when we were younger, Potter.”

Hermione gave Harry a strange look, but luckily she said nothing.

“You realise this is against all sorts of regulations?” she asked Draco.

“You think it might damage my promising Ministry career?”

Hermione turned back to Harry

“You have to make sure no-one comes in here-”

“I don't think that will be a problem,” Draco quipped.

Hermione threw a smile at him. Draco looked mildly horrified.

“When can you start?”

“If you can get a cauldron in here, then I can start right away.”

Hermione nodded.

“What about ingredients?”

“We have some in the hospital,” Harry interjected, feeling a little left out.

“I'll give you a list, Potter. The standard ingredients are easy enough, though it will need to be adjusted slightly...” His gaze became unfocused and Harry turned to Hermione.

“Are we really going to do this?”

She smiled grimly.

“Yes we are!”

\+ + +

Draco was as good as his word. When Harry had got his list, he'd sneaked into the store rooms under the invisibility cloak and taken everything on there. Or nearly everything. Of course it was made a bit harder by Draco's “helpful” notes. They seemed to be mostly for his own benefit, containing information about the properties of the ingredients and how much should be used, but every now and then Harry would spot one that was clearly intended for him to read.

 _Wolfsbane (obviously, but it is Potter after all)  
Scarab beetles (wit-sharpening – crushed)  
Salamander blood (strengthening – only a small amount)  
Jobberknoll feathers (small ones)  
Powdered moonstone (used in Draught of Peace, could use it here?)  
Ginger roots (for wit-sharpening properties. Wouldn't hurt to take a few extra for personal use, Potter)  
Bloodroot (calming properties. Same here, Potter)  
Pomegranate (for strength- but maybe Salamander blood is enough??)_

When he'd double- and triple-checked the list, Harry returned to Draco's room.

For a moment Harry wondered where he was, then he realised there was only one place this would work.

Hermione had already found him a cauldron and it stood in the middle of the bathroom with a small fire burning underneath it. There was a pool of what looked like water in the bottom and a steady column of steam rising from it. Draco was leaning against the wall while Hermione cut up scarab beetles. They were discussing some feature of the potion Harry didn't know about. He smiled when he saw the two mugs of tea on the sink.

Harry slipped inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. He had thought it was a squeeze with him and Draco in the bathroom, but with three there was hardly space to breath.

“How's it going?”

Draco looked up.

“The cauldron's too old, the bathroom's too small and Granger's far too happy.”

Harry looked at Hermione. Her face was practically glowing with pleasure. But it might have been the steam from the cauldron – his own glasses were fogging up annoyingly quickly.

“It's just like old times!” Hermione said happily.

Draco gave her a look that clearly demonstrated what he thought of her mental stability.

“For the love of Merlin, Granger” he groaned. “I do not want to hear about what potions you and the Weasel brew in your bathroom.”

“Actually,” she sniffed, returning her attention to the beetles, “I was referring to the time we brewed Polyjuice Potion in third year and fooled you.”

Draco's mouth fell open. He looked over her head at Harry, who quickly busied himself with slicing up a ginger root. After a few minutes he risked a glance up and saw Draco still staring at him.

Draco said nothing, just gestured pointedly to where the Pensieve sat hidden behind the shower curtain. Harry grinned.

\+ + +

For the next few days, Harry and Draco didn't swap any more memories. Every time Harry could get to B3, Draco was in the bathroom, bent over the cauldron. Harry was almost jealous how a bloody potion could make Draco look so happy. Draco also wasn't having any nightmares these days, so Harry didn't get a chance to go back into his room at night. He told himself he was happy about that and crushed the pathetic part of him that told him he wasn't.

The next time he went to see Draco, Hermione was already there. She smiled at him when he came into the bathroom, pushing a strand of wavy hair off her face. Draco didn't look up from where he was holding two of the bottles he had put his memories in. One had a bright green liquid in, the other, a dull purple.

“Potter. You're just in time to help.”

“Erm, actually, I'm pretty crap at potions.”

“Really?” Draco's voice dripped with sarcasm. “When you got such good marks in our sixth year?”

Harry glared at Hermione's pink cheeks. Since when had her and Draco been such good friends that she would tell him about the Half-Blood Prince?

“As punishment for your blatant cheating that year, you get to be tester,” Draco smirked.

“What?” He looked at Hermione to clarify Draco wasn't serious, but she just nodded at him. “No,” he told her. “No way am I testing Wolfsbane Potion. I'm not a werewolf!”

“Your powers of observation are astounding, Potter. You don't have to test the whole potion you idiot, just a few of the ingredients.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco, but before he could tell him what he thought of this idea, Hermione interrupted.

“We're not sure what the effects of some of these ingredients are when administered together, Harry. If you can take them, then we'll monitor you. I have my wand, and Draco has antidotes to everything here.” She gestured to the toilet seat where the rest of the plastic bottles where now filled with different colour liquids. “Nothing is dangerous,” she added.

“Much.”

Hermione glared at Draco, but he just smirked.

They were there for hours, testing combinations of ingredients that Draco hadn't combined before. And a few, Harry was sure, that he knew the effects of exactly. There had been a bright spot though when the wit-sharpening ingredients had combined to allow him to beat Hermione at a few Numerology questions.

In the end, they were tired but satisfied. Draco thought he'd come up with the ingredients needed, Hermione was writing a 'short' 20-page report for her division and Harry was hopeful his two weird patients would recover.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stood in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Draco's back muscles shift under his top as he stirred the cauldron.

“I've been thinking...”

Draco looked around.

“So you used the ginger roots after all? Good for you, Potter.”

“No,” Harry glared at him and wished the smug look on Draco's face didn't affect him quite so much. “I thought we could leave the hospital for a day.”

There was a clatter of metal.

“What?” Draco said, turning quickly to pick the ladle back up.

“Well, something Hermione said when she was here gave me an idea.” He paused for Draco's usual sarcastic comment but none came, so he continued. “The Ministry has a supply of Polyjuice Potion and I thought we could use it to get you out of here. Just for a day. Go to the countryside or somewhere else a bit private.”

He felt his cheeks heat up and realised it sounded like he was asking Draco out on a date. Draco didn't turn around and Harry watched the back of his head. He wished Draco would say something, _anything._ He started to feel a bit sick.

“And how are you going to get the Polyjuice?” Draco asked finally, back still to Harry. “The Ministry doesn't just let anyone go and take a cupful. Even if you are the Chosen One.”

He was feigning disinterest, but Harry heard the tightening of his voice.

“I've already got it.”

Draco looked at him then. Hard and piercing, as if trying to tell where in this Harry was lying. Harry forced himself to keep eye contact, although not blinking made his eyes sting. He reached inside his robes and pulled out the vial Hermione had given him.

Draco's eyes flicked down to where the thick liquid was bubbling slowly in his hands. Draco didn't say anything and Harry felt his palm sweat against the glass.

“We don't have to use it,” he said quickly. “Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

Immensely relieved, Harry pulled out the hair from his other pocket and dropped it in the vial before handing it to Draco. It started to froth and turned a bright silver.

“You better not be turning me into some guy you fancy for your own perverted fantasy, Potter.”

Harry kept his mouth tightly shut, lest he say something stupid. Draco looked suspicious.

“It _is_ a guy isn't it?”

“Yes. It's a guy.”

“Good.”

Draco tipped the vial into his mouth and drank.

“Hmm... doesn't taste too bad. Minty.”

Harry coughed to cover his grin. He'd remind Draco he'd said that later.

The transformation was instantaneous. Draco gasped and bent over, clutching the sink. His body and legs lengthened, along with his hands and feet. His hair colour changed. When he straightened up, Harry looked at the familiar face of Ron.

Draco looked down at his freckled hands.

“Potter! I'm a Weasley!”

Harry couldn't contain himself any longer. He laughed at Draco's outrage.

“It'll look less suspicious if people see us together,” he tried to explain, but his laughter made it hard to speak.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, but he took the clothes Harry handed him, muttering something that sounded like “the world doesn't need any more Weasleys.”

He came out a few minutes later. Harry's black jeans were just too short on him and two thin patches of freckled skin were visible above his ankles. The Chudley Cannons Quidditch shirt stretched across his chest and stomach. It was even too small for Harry, so on Ron is looked frankly ridiculous, but at least it was in their black away colours. As well as being one of the few items of clothing Harry had that might fit Draco's slim body, it was the only thing he had with long sleeves. He had expected Draco to complain, but it never came.

“Well, at least now I know why Granger stays with him,” he smirked instead, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Not a chance, Potter.”

Harry felt himself get a bit hot. He grabbed the bag he'd brought with him from the armchair and tossed Draco a long cloak.

“We have to get outside the hospital. Then I can Apparate us. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

They walked down the corridor and passed the reception area. There were a few Carers and Healers there, but those that looked up just waved at them.

The lobby was busy with people but Harry directed Draco through the crowds and out the main doors onto the street.

Harry pointed to a nearby alleyway they could Apparate from, but Draco wasn't looking. He was staring around the street like he'd been taken to Honeydukes for the first time. He stepped forward and raised his head, taking in the sights and sounds. He was so entranced he didn't even react when an elderly couple told him off him for standing in the middle of the pavement.

Harry took his arm and pulled him gently into the side alley. He kept hold of him and, looking to check Draco knew it was coming, Apparated away.

\+ + +

The first thing Harry felt was the breeze. It was cool and clean, unpolluted by people or buildings.

They were standing on top of a cliff on a small pathway cut into a mass of bracken. Not twenty metres away, the cliff fell away to the sea. Waves were slowly building some way out, great mounds of water that rolled towards the land, steadily growing until they hit the cliff in a crash of white foam. The sky was pale blue and streaked with thin clouds. It was bright day though the sun was hidden.

“Where are we?”

“Land's End in Cornwall.”

He'd found it during one of his longer walks when he, Hermione and Ron were at Shell Cottage during the war. After Dobby's death and while Harry was trying to figure out what to do, he'd taken lots of walks by himself over the cliffs and along the beaches around here. Shell Cottage was a few miles away, though he didn't intend to tell Draco that. Being Polyjuiced into Ron was probably enough Weasley-related information as he could handle today.

They walked along the cliff pathway for hours, stopping only when the Polyjuice wore off to let Draco remove the travelling cloak. The walk took them down and up again, over cliff after cliff, never losing sight of the sea. The bracken fell away to grasses and real heather and exposed rocks jutting out of the ground.

Eventually, tired, they found a place to rest. Clambering over an old style, they lay on the soft grass in an empty field. The silence was companionable, comforting, calming.

The clouds grew and stretched until an uneven film of white covered almost the entire sky. The wind was picking up and Harry cast warming charms around them.

“I suppose you know what Granger said to me yesterday?” Draco said suddenly.

“Hermione visited you yesterday?”

“No, she appeared in front of me like a vision. Yes, she visited me. Honestly, Potter.”

Harry grinned, despite himself.

“Alright, alright. What did she say?”

“She said her division could use a potions expert, which she seems to think I am.” Harry looked sideways at him as surreptitiously as he could. Draco's cheeks were a bit pink, but it might have been the wind. “Obviously I told her that brewing one batch of Wolfsbane, which we don't know even works, does not make me a potions expert. But she wouldn't listen.”

Harry grinned again. “No, she's like that.”

“Anyway, she said if I wanted to work in a job that helped people, I should get in touch once I've left the hospital.”

“And did that persuade you?” Harry tried, but couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Draco snorted.

“Then she mentioned that I'd get my wand back.”

Ah. That sounded more like it.

“What did you say?”

“I'd think about it.”

Harry turned away to look at the cloudy sky. A month ago, Draco didn't even want Harry as a Healer and now he was actually considering working with Hermione. He couldn't remember feeling so happy in a long time.

“I know what you're thinking, Potter. I am not going soft. The minute she brings a single creature to see me, I'm quitting.”

Harry was silent. A few minutes later Draco sat up.

“Can you Apparate us?”

Harry was surprised by the question, but bit back his hurt. Draco wasn't used to being outside, he was probably exhausted.

“Sure. You ready to go back?”

He reached in his pocket for the second vial of Polyjuice.

“No. I just want you to Apparate us somewhere.” Draco pointed to the next cliff top along. “There, maybe.”

Harry let the vial roll off his fingers back into his pocket.

“Why?” he asked curiously.

Draco didn't answer and Harry expected him to shrug his shoulders and proclaim he didn't want it after all.

“Potter, they confiscated my wand and, despite Granger's crazy ideas, I might not get it back for a long time. I haven't done magic in months- at least not intentional magic.” He paused. “I miss it.”

Harry knew he should refuse. Draco wasn't supposed to be exposed to magic, although that hadn't seemed to stop Harry before. Draco also still wasn't back to full health and Apparition, even Side-Along, was a strain on the body.

Harry groaned and held out a hand.

“Just add this to the list of things to not tell anyone about, okay?”

Draco laughed and it echoed in Harry's ears as he spun them away.

They landed knee-deep in bracken. It tore at Harry's jeans as he stumbled when he landed. He looked for a way out, but the bushes were dense around them and there was no path in sight.

Draco was laughing again.

“Shut up! You chose this place, not me.”

“Well, then take us somewhere else.” Draco looked around. “How about there?”

He was pointing to a rock in the sea. It hardly looked big enough for two people to stand on, let alone Apparate to. Draco looked sideways at Harry. “Although Apparition clearly isn't your strong point, so if you don't think you can-”

Harry grabbed him by the waist and turned, focusing hard.

They were standing on the rock, clinging to each other to regain their balance on its uneven surface. The wind whirled around them and the waves broke at their feet.

Draco's hand was on his shoulder and Harry was very aware that his own arm was still wrapped around Draco's waist. Slowly, Draco turned until he was facing Harry. The rock dipped slightly where Draco was standing, so his face was exactly level with Harry's. Harry knew it was going to happen before it did; Draco leant in, and Harry's eyes closed as he moved his head the rest of the way.

Draco's lips were soft, hesitant, and his other arm came up to curl around the back of Harry's neck. Harry's glasses pressed into the side of his nose but that only proved this was actually happening. Pretty quickly, the kiss became more urgent, their lips pulling at each other with the occasional graze of teeth.

Everything felt magnified to Harry. The air whistling past his ears, the flecks of salty sea spray that hit his neck and Draco's body pressed against him and burning through his clothes. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that this was the most ridiculous idea. They were on a tiny rock which, if they didn't topple off into the water first, they'd get blown off pretty soon.

Harry dug his fingers tighter into Draco's waist. He forced Draco's mouth to open wider with his tongue and felt Draco's push back. His cock stirred in his jeans and he gasped when Draco's hips rolled into his.

“We should go back to the hospital,” Draco said into Harry's mouth.

“What? Why?”

“There's a bed.”

Harry's cock hardened.

“Right,” he said, pulling back slightly to Apparate them off the rock.

They arrived in the alley next to St. Mungo's and Harry wasted no time in kissing Draco again. He pushed him backwards in to the wall and ran his hands over Draco's body, feeling the skin under his t-shirt. Draco moved his hands lower and Harry felt his cock swell further as the Draco rubbed the outside of his jeans.

If Draco kept this up, Harry was going to come right here in his jeans. He took a step back, feeling the vial in his pocket bump against his side. There was no way he was going to wait an hour for this; Polyjuice was not even an option.

“Bed,” he ordered, and Draco nodded.

They hurried out of the alley and into the hospital through the front entrance. One or two people noticed Harry, but he was walking quickly enough to lose them easily. They crossed the lobby without a problem, Harry fighting madly to keep his hands off Draco. It didn't help his concentration that his cock rubbed gloriously against his jeans every step he took.

They were passing the reception desk, and were about twenty seconds away from entering corridor B3, when someone called Harry's name. He heard Draco swear under his breath next to him.

Harry turned, mentally preparing an excuse about taking Draco for some tests on the floor above.

Chloe was standing with another woman in the small waiting area. Harry walked over to them, pulling his cloak around his groin and fully intending to make this quick. The woman was slim with hair just marginally darker than Draco's and rather attractive.

“Healer Potter is the one looking after Draco's case,” Chloe said to the woman, before leaving them to it.

The woman smiled at him, which he returned with more of a grimace, and offered him her hand.

“It's very nice to meet you, Healer Potter. My name is Astoria Greengrass. I'm Draco's fiancée.”

She said more – Harry thought he might have heard the words _grateful_ and _understanding_ – but there was a rushing noise in his brain like he'd put two Extendible Ears into a washing machine. Draco had a fiancée? He was going to get married to this woman?

Harry retained enough mental skill to turn around and point to where Draco was still standing across the reception area. The woman, _Draco's fiancée,_ was already walking away. Harry followed numbly, his feet moving without his permission.

She hugged Draco tightly, wrapping her hands around him where Harry's had been just minutes earlier. Draco was looking at Harry over her shoulder, eyes wide with some expression Harry didn't want to know. Pity? Guilt? Amusement?

“Well, you know where your room is, Draco,” Harry said loudly, then, as the woman turned around, he remembered he was the professional here and added, “Goodbye.”

\+ + +

Harry grabbed a Dreamless Sleep potion from the unofficial supply he had at home and drank it in one go. He crawled into his bed and waited for sleep to claim him.

He was woken the next morning by an owl tapping against the window. Throwing it open, the bird flapped inside and offered its leg. He didn't recognise the bird, but he did recognise Hermione's hand-writing. Harry surmised she's sent it from work.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _The Wizengamot gave us permission to try giving Abbey the Wolfsbane next month! Don't have time to write more. I'll tell you all at dinner tonight. Thank you so much for your help – and Draco._

 _Love,  
Hermione xxx_

Harry set the parchment on fire with his wand.

He Fire-called Healer Jones telling her he was too sick to come into work today and spent the next eight hours pacing his flat and ripping pages out of _Living with Nightmares._ He figured it would help him feel better and he could always buy Hermione a new one later.

He had made his mind up not to go to Wednesday dinner either; Hermione would just want to talk about Abbey, or worse, Draco. But as seven o'clock drew nearer, he began to feel guilty. A little girl was getting a chance at having as normal life as she could hope for and he wanted to sit at home playing a heart-broken fool. Harry should be happy about Abbey, not wallowing in self-pity.

By six thirty, he couldn't stand being in his flat any longer and he Floo'ed to Ron and Hermione's. He felt some satisfaction picturing their shocked faces when he was one hour early.

Hermione sat next to him on the sofa and looked at him critically. How long had they been sitting there?

“Harry, please tell me what's wrong.”

He wasn't planning on telling her. Or anyone really, but he couldn't help it.

“I met Draco's fiancée today. She came to see how he was doing.”

She reached out to clasp his hand with both of hers and he knew she understood. This was Hermione – of course she had figured out how he felt about Draco. She knew about him and Ginny years before anything happened.

“Harry, there is a reason why patient-Healer relationships are not allowed,” she said gently.

Harry felt his temper flare. He really didn't need to hear her holier-than-thou attitude right now.

“Don't lecture _me_ about breaking the rules,” he began hotly.

“No, of course I'm not,” she soothed. “What I'm trying to say is that sometimes when you're involved in looking after a patient, feelings can be confused. Healers care about their patients and sometimes you can mistake caring for someone's well-being as caring for them. And for a patient whose only contact with the world is his Healer, of course he will become attached. It's only natural.”

Harry snorted.

“So what you're saying is that I don't know what I'm feeling. That I can't possibly be in love with him, because I'm his-” he stopped at Hermione's small gasp. Her fingers were uncomfortably tight around his hand.

“You're in love with him?”

Harry nodded miserably. Now he'd said it aloud, it was pretty obvious. He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but that might have been his own suddenly watery vision.

She hugged him.

“Well, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about.”

“And?” he dared her.

“And, when has he ever made the right decision first time?”

Harry laughed weakly into her shoulder and let the tears spill down his face.

\+ + +

Harry left for work determined to be calm and collected. This was his job, and even Draco Malfoy couldn't ruin it for him, although it was typical that he would come close.

He had no reason to visit Draco until Healer Jones appeared in the staff room. She spotted him and hurried over.

“Harry, I was just looking for you. I wanted to say well done! I'm sorry I was a bit hesitant at first, but you never know with some patients. And post-trauma conditions are unpredictable at best.”

Harry looked at her, completely lost.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh? He hasn't told you? Well, Draco's being discharged tomorrow. His fiancée was here two days ago—I had no idea he was even engaged—and she must have persuaded him. He says the nightmares have stopped and he gave full credit to you.” She beamed at him, obviously expecting Harry to be equally delighted with this news. He managed a weak smile. “The Ministry even promised to send his wand back.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. No, he hasn't had nightmares for...” Harry tried to remember back, “nearly three weeks now.”

Healer Jones smiled widely at him.

“So all you need to do is the final out-patient exam and he's free to go.”

Before Harry could think of a reason to get out of it, she was striding away.

He put it off for as long as he could, but by the afternoon he told himself to just grit his teeth and get on with it. He paused outside Draco's room and removed the final magic-blocking ward. He'd need his magic for the final check-up.

Draco looked up from the armchair as soon as Harry walked through the door. He was wearing black trousers and a crisp white shirt and looked like he'd stepped off a high-priced Twilfit and Tatting's advert; Harry guessed his fiancée had brought him some of his own clothes, though he wouldn't have put it past Draco to cast a subtle beautifying spell on them.

“Potter. Harry. Look, about my fiancée-”

“That's none of my business, Draco,” Harry interrupted. “If you could just lie down on the bed...”

Draco did as he was told, but opened his mouth to speak again.

“No talking, please. You have to stay absolutely still for this.”

It wasn't strictly true, but Harry's arm was shaking and at least one of them should be steady for the spells to do their job.

He measured Draco's heart rate, blood pressure and did a few blood tests to check for infections, but everything seemed healthy. He turned away to leave, but Draco grabbed his arm.

“Would you just listen for a second? Please?”

Harry paused.

“I've been engaged to Astoria for a year. My parents arranged the marriage.”

Harry snorted. Even when he was dead, Lucius Malfoy could ruin Harry's life.

“When she came to visit yesterday-”

Harry didn't let him finish. An image of Astoria sitting beside Draco, comforting him, touching him had risen in his mind and he lunged forward. He kissed Draco furiously, engagement be damned.

Only after his mouth was on Draco's and his tongue pushing between closed lips, did Harry consider that Draco might not want to do this. But the hesitation lasted less than a second because then Draco opened beneath him and his own tongue slid over Harry's.

Harry's wand dropped from his hand and he scrambled onto the bed; Draco shifted to make room in the narrow space, but Harry didn’t need it. He straddled Draco's lap, fumbling with his stupidly small buttons as Draco tugged on Harry's robes. They broke apart for a moment, so Draco could pull Harry's robe and t-shirt over his head and then they were together again, connected by eager mouths as Draco dragged Harry down onto the bed.

Draco ran his hands over Harry's chest, pinching a nipple, before moving lower over his stomach and finally dipping below his trousers. Harry wriggled out of them and Draco reached down and flung them, pants and all, to the side of the room.

Draco's hand wrapped around his cock and Harry was fully hard in an instant. It took all his self control not to come immediately and he instead focused on touching Draco's body everywhere he could reach. Draco pumped his hand faster and Harry rocked his hips into Draco's fist shamelessly. He wanted to kiss Draco, but he could only manage to open his mouth and press it into Draco's neck. He ran his teeth along the skin there, pleased when Draco groaned in response. Draco's thumb rubbed small circles into the tip of Harry's cock, smearing pre-come over it.

“Going to fuck you now,” Draco growled in his ear.

Draco pulled back to rid himself of his trousers. Automatically, Harry twisted to get on his hands and knees, but Draco put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He pushed Harry back down on his back.

“I want to see you.”

Draco whispered a spell and lowered his hand between Harry's legs, some of the cool liquid dripping between his fingers and landing on Harry's stomach. One slick, wet finger slipped inside Harry and he clenched around it, followed by another. His hands reached up and clung onto Draco's hips.

Draco didn't spend too long preparing him, probably because Harry was whining in impatience. Draco hooked Harry's legs over his arms and nudged his cock against Harry's entrance. He gasped when Draco pushed inside him, half-gasping, half-yelling, and his hands slipped from Draco's body to the bed. He couldn't make his fingers work, he couldn't make any part of him work, he could only feel the glorious pressure of Draco moving inside him, stretching and filling him. Then he felt Draco pause.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

Harry refused to think about just how hurt he would be after this and shut his eyes. Draco pushed deeper, until his balls brushed against Harry's skin. He gripped Harry's cock and it twitched, dangerously close to coming.

Harry opened his eyes to see Draco above him. His shirt hung off his shoulders, shifting slightly with Draco's heavy breathing. His torso and face shone with sweat and there were shadowed circles under his eyes, making him look more like a vampire than a wizard. His hair was stuck to his face but, when he shook his head to move some of it out of his eyes, Harry thought he was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

“Well, get on with it, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked. He pulled back, his head tipping forward to watch himself, then he looked up. Harry looked into his grey eyes before Draco slammed back into him and the room went white.

He heard his breathing and slowly felt his toes and fingers uncurl. Something trickled down his side and his cock felt hot and heavy lying his stomach.

Harry flushed with embarrassment when he realised he'd come so quickly. But Draco didn't seem to care. He smiled above him and rocked back into Harry a few more times until his face screwed up and his body stiffened. Harry watched him, entranced, as his back arched and his cock pulsed and he cried out incoherent, strangled words.

Eventually, Draco's shoulders slumped and he tipped his head forward. He let himself fall down onto Harry's chest, releasing Harry's legs in the process. His body was solid and reassuring and coated with sweat that mingled with Harry's come. Draco tilted his head towards Harry and kissed his neck.

Harry wondered how many times they would have to have sex before he could do it without coming in the first three minutes. Probably never. Then he remembered the chances he'd get to do this again once Draco was out of the hospital and married: also never.

Harry shot out of the bed and grabbed his clothes; his underwear was still lodged in his trousers from where Draco had thrown them and he pulled them on roughly in one go. Draco had dragged himself to a sitting position on his bed.

“Where are you-” he began, but Harry was out of the room without a backwards glance.

\+ + +

The room was empty.

The bed had been made and the covers sat neatly folded at the bottom. On the bedside table sat a small plastic bottle. Inside a single strand of silver bounced against the lid.

Harry picked it up, turning it in his hands. He slipped it in his pocket, deciding Draco's goodbye wasn't something he wanted to see yet. Sighing, he turned to leave when a patch of blue caught his eye. The view from the window had changed; the heather had been replaced by a wide expanse of glittering ocean, as if the room were perched on the edge of a cliff.

Harry stared at it for ages. He came to a decision.

The Pensieve was exactly where he'd left it. He carried it out from the bathroom and set it on the bed. He tipped the memory in and ducked forward.

He fell into the same room, except there was no sunlight coming in. The water outside was a darker blue and a full moon reflected off its surface. Harry was standing at the foot of the bed, with Draco in front of him, looking out the window.

“It's lucky I'm leaving today otherwise the Healers would keep me in for insanity,” Draco said to the empty room.

He smiled wryly, though when his face became serious again, he looked uncertain. Harry longed to hold him.

“The truth is I have to do it like this. I told you – I'm a coward.” Draco sighed. “What I also _tried_ to tell you before you jumped me yesterday, was that I am no longer engaged.”

Harry half stumbled forwards. Draco turned and looked right at him. He knew Draco couldn't see him—this was only Draco's memory after all—but his eyes seemed to find Harry regardless.

“I called it off because I'm in love with you.”

Draco shook his head and he closed his eyes briefly before looking back at where Harry stood.

“I'm staying at the Whitesands Hotel in Land's End. If you want... well, I'll be there until tomorrow. But, even if you don't, I want to say thank you. For saving me again.”

Harry didn't wait to hear the rest. He didn't even wait to find his footing when he came out of the memory before he Apparated to Cornwall. Draco had been back in his life for less than two months, and Harry was not letting him leave it again.


End file.
